The Crawl
by AlaskanFrog
Summary: In a forgotten moon on the edge of Imperial Space, The Greenskin menace threatens the village of a young girl. Armed with only her wits and agility, and an unknown blessing, Nula must face the trails of a life torn asunder by war, leaving behind her childhood. With the Empire as nothing more than a vague memory of times past, her world must stand on its own, or be wiped out.
1. Asleep

It was the stench that burned her nose, and dragged her mind back into reality. Asleep in the hollow of the massive Tezki tree, The young girl popped out of the hazy safety of the dream world. Momentarily confused, A needle of panic gripped her heart as she ascertained what was going on around her. Realizing that she was in no direct danger, Nula's fear was quickly replaced with anger at herself.

"Emperors Tears" she cursed under her breath. _Asleep on watch_. This was not the time or the place for youthful folly. "youthful folly" would have little solace for those killed by the green skin menace. Dead was still dead. Even this train of thought was not to be a permanent fixture in her mind as yet a third more pressing thought interrupted her. What was that stench?

At only the age of 13, Nula was not imposing to stare at. No one had ever looked at her in terror, or retreated from her gaze as she surveyed a room. In fact it was a rare moment when she was noticed. The daughter of a quarry worker on the forgotten moon of a minor planet at the farthest reaches of imperial space, she was nothing more than just another child in the small cliff side village, destined to either raise a family, or take up trade. That was, until the greenskins arrived.

Even the arrival of such malice was seemingly non-chalant in the grand scheme of things. There had been no cataclysmic event, no sundering of the sky, no eruption from a rift, nothing akin to the historical texts in the community library with which she had so often kept herself entertained. The evil that was systematically butchering or enslaving her people had simply just shown up one day. There were not even hints of it's genesis in the rumor mills. The terror of their arrival showed up in the silencing of trading partners, the reports from hunters of destroyed villages and outposts, and _the Crawl_.

The Crawl was the term for the slowly spreading destruction that they witnessed over the course of several months. Her village was carved into the sides of a massive cliff face atop the tallest mountain she was aware of. It gave her people a view of the land, which unknowingly to them, was unparalleled throught the galaxy. From the base of the massive cliff the Eternal Forest began, and spread out in every direction as far as the eyes could see. The Crawl was the slow destruction of the forest as the greenskins spread across the land. The first sign had been a raging forest fire at the edge of the horizon. Memories of the billowing smoke as it blocked out the sun still caused her heart to ache. The fires raged for over a month, and by the time the smoke had died down, a significant portion of their glorious forest was been consumed, leaving a massive scar in its wake. The scar stood like an ever present reminder that something was wrong for her people as they continued on with their lives. Soon after the hunters would begin the reports of destruction. Soon after that the scar would begin to grow, this time without fire, and would gain its name.

The first encounter with the greenskins happened after several weeks of growth from the Crawl. A hunting party had been near decimated. Only two men had returned, one of which had succumbed to his injuries the next day. Being young and uneducated they reported a battle with massive green deamons with monstrous teeth.

Nula had been among the first to truly recognize what that meant. Her time with the books left a name in her memory which sprung like a trap at the first reports. _Orks. _They were under attack by Orks. It was in that moment that she first understood fear.

The effect of the Stench was to bring her out of the painful memories, and back into the moment. Only one thing was capable of such on odor, and its presence filled her with terror. Careful not to make a sound, and thankful her earlier curse had not drawn attention, Nula shifter her weight and slowly leaned forward, between a split in a branch to see what lay before her. About 15 feet below her stood a massive hulk of muscle, rotting cloth, and scrap iron.

The Ork was small for its kind. For all its time invading this land, the Ork had seen very little conflict, and as such had grown very little. This was no solace to Nula, whom in comparison was dwarfed by the massive frame. It was bare chested save for a ragged cloak sewn in a checker board pattern, and a massive rusted piece of scrap metal chained into the semblance of armor. The imperial eagle was stamped into the iron, and had been more than defiled by crude Ork glyphs.

While she had been raised in relative solitude, Nula had once before visited the capital city of her land, a massive city of over twenty thousand people which spread over ten to fifteen miles. How so many people could live in one place was beyond Nula, but in her travels she had seen many things, the most relevant off which was the wonders of imperial technology. She had been especially impressed with the Imperial guard and their war machines. Tanks they had been called. What scared her now was that the last time she had seen an imperial eagle of that nature, it had been pressed into the hull of one of the seemingly invincible war machines. At the time she had been certain that nothing could overcome one, but here before her stood evidence of a beast which wore its carcass as armor.

She reached down and felt for the handle of her knife. Finding comfort in its presence, she studied the monster below her. What was her obligation in this moment? She was a scout now, whose goal was advanced notice and warning of approaching greenskin threats. Being exceptionally intelligent and extremely agile, the elders had seen her potential and agreed to allow her service. She was now on the front lines of the defense.

Her job was simple. Alert the village if any greenskin came within eyesight. The Crawl was still miles away from the base of their cliff, and a carful reduction of smoke at day and fire the occasional electric light at night had so far kept their home, as exposed as it was, out of greenskin attention.

Now however, one of the beasts sat below her. It was something they all expected, and a scenario she had prepared herself for. As terrifying as it was being right above something so violent and deadly, she kept her calm. She had no reason to be seen, and was not expected to expose herself to its attention. In fact, it was completely acceptable for her to curl back up in the hollow of the tree. _Still_, she was exceptionally curious about the ominous threat which had plagued her people for so long. It was one thing to hear about the Orks, to have the idea of them hanging over ones head for such a long time, and quite another to actually see one.

The beast was surprisingly like the descriptions she read of in the library. It towered over her at a massive 6 feet, and it seemed to her that it could be taller if only it would stretch its neck out of the hunch it seemed to naturally stuck to.

A glance to its side dampened her curiosity. What could be called a knife in name only hung lazily at its side. Had it been day time, the sun would never had been able to glint of its blade, as it covered in rust as it was. Crude teeth were riveted along the edge, and in the faint light she thought she could make out the red stain of blood. Sympathy pains shredded her imagination as she envisioned being struck by such a weapon. She felt sick inside.

The beast seemed to perk up, as if something had caught it attention. It looked up the face of the cliffs, as did she. Suddenly she saw a flash of light, almost as the sun would reflect of a glass during the midday. The beast snarled in recognition and grew a cold sneer on its face. It took but split second for her to realize what had just happened. Regardless of the cause, improper light discipline had just revealed the existence of her home. In that moment, the weight of responsibility made her feel suddenly, and uniquely alone.


	2. Iskra

Chapter 2

Even the Ork's laughter was sinister. The guttural barking sound was known as laughter only by the look of sadistic anticipation upon the monster's face. As Nula sat above the creature, she trembled with anger at the sight. After so long, the months of terror, the blackened nights as she sat in her father's house shivering and longing for the warmth a fire would bring, and the bitter tears shed over the encroaching Crawl, She would have expected to be left speechless in terror this close to her fear. Instead all she felt was pure rage.

To top it all off, there wasn't even some sort of ignoble purpose to it all. Instead she watched this hated creature laugh at her misfortunes, the very ones that his kind had caused. He was laughing because he had discovered her home. The place where she grew up, where her father had grown up, Where her mother had died, and she had first fallen in love. He was watching that place and he was laughing as he planned to destroy it. Her home would soon burn like the neighboring villages. The monsters would slaughter them all for sport, and they too would be nothing more than another story to haunt the people down the river. She wondered who, if anyone would find their village.

She shifted her weight uncomfortably as a branch pressed into the soft area under her ribs. As she shifted her knife swung down ever so slightly, just enough for her to feel its presence. The mixture of rage and a blade reached into her subconscious and gave birth to an idea.

Her village was not yet doomed. Nula understood the basic principle of the Vox, and how it allowed for long distance communication. At no time had she seen this creature use whatever crude amalgamation they parodied as a Vox communication. She was not even sure that they had that ability, as far as she could tell the blade and armor were the only ways in which technology expressed itself for the greenskins. But if that were the case, how had he acquired the body of a tank to wear? Was an Ork so strong that he could swing iron through whatever metal clothed the guard's mechanized beasts? If so, what hope would she have engaging such a monster?

But she had to try. What hope would her people have if the monster brought more with it? The idea of her home brought asunder was too much for her to endure, and she placed her hand upon her dagger. A flicker of doubt (or was it reason) tried to stay her hand. _What am I doing_? The thought slipped out of her mind as a blade from its sheath. Her ultimate weapon came from inside, and as she ran her finger over the blade to test its edge, the oddest of thoughts replaced her doubt. Memories of a stone mason's work song bubbled to the surface, carried through her mind by her father's commanding voice.

_"Hewn in will/ noble in thought/ Cut the earth/ What God's have wrought/ Son stand up strong/ against your foe/ Face the stone/ and bring it Low."_

Her father's voice lept to mind with another simple command: "You are only as good as your tool Nula. Your knife is nothing compared to your mind." For quite some time she had been confused, though not ungrateful at her father's allowance of her daily hours spent reading. Many a family in the village found little use for the flights of fancy found in the dust covered library. She oft found her only companion the cave swallows who roosted above the historical sections. This of course surprised her, as the view alone was worth the trip.

"Sun's wrath" she cursed again. The wandering of her mind had the potential to prove fatal, and as if guided by the emperors own hand, Nula had sliced her finger in her careless mental wandering. The pain was reminder of her task at hand, and she dared to believe in some providential message.

However the blood offered a new challenge. It was no ordinary blade which she held in her hand, It had been handed down throughout her family since the first off-worlder settled generations before. A relic of technological wonder, wiring and circuitry splayed out around the hilt. A quick press of the activation rune would engulf the blade in a paper thin field of energy, capable of severing nearly any naturally occurring material. The knife itself was of a simple design, but had the elegant touches of master craftsmanship. The grip was woven from a red leather into interlocking diamond shapes, which ended in smooth pummel. Etched into the rounded end was some foreign glyph surrounded by two serpents. Adjacent to the pummel was the slightest hint of a hand guard, forged into the shape of a braided rope. Aesthetics aside, the true value of the blade was in its relic status. It was impossible for Nula, or anyone in her family to appreciate the compact nature of the machinery. Where in modern blades of this design the complicated mechanism took up valuable space along the base of the blade, and risked exposure to damage, the master crafted blade held in the hands of such a "nobody" had none of these flaws, and came from an era long lost to time. The mechanisms existed within the hilt, greatly saving space. It was a grand sense of cosmic irony that such a tool was now in the hands of a being many would still consider a child.

Irony aside, and completely lost on the girl, the field upon her blade had the distinct problem of vaporizing liquid upon activation. She often used that feature to impress her friends, or as a simple curiosity when she was bored, as upon activation, any liquid would cause a sharp pop and crackled of blue sparks. This was even effected by the appearance of condensation. She could not be sure the blade was dry in the darkness, and the last thing she needed was the activation drawing attention. This left only one option as far as she could reason, shed had to activate the blade the instant before striking if she had any hope of being silent. This was a simple, yet deeply unwelcome complication. Nula was by no means an expert in the art of fighting, and she had never used the blade for anything other than as a tool.

_"Your knife is nothing compared to your mind". _ It was quite the compliment to Nula, and given the true value of what she held in her hand, it was one that she did not yet fully appreciate.


	3. Haircut

Think.

She had to think. How was she supposed to kill a monster? Pushing her self up to her hands and knees from the smooth comfort of the Tezki branch, Nula was careful to maintain her balance. While she wasn't quite sure how a child was supposed to kill a monster, she did know that falling out of the tree would be the very last thing she needed. Nula was fast, everyone in the village knew that much, and perhaps given the proper experience, that would count for something noteworthy she was sure. Even being prone to games of skill with her friends, there was something entirely different from avoiding the grasp of a playful boy, to dodging the massive hunk of iron the beast would surly take to her. _How would that feel?_ Would she even feel the strike? Surely not, her tiny frame would be obliterated before he…

She was losing focus again, the fact of which brought a silent curse to her lips. Worrying about what was going to happen if he caught her didn't help anything, and Nula had too much courage to give up in the face of death. Of course, she didn't feel it, and she certainly didn't think of herself as such. Gingerly feeling for the activation rune, she began to formulate an idea.

In all of her life exploring the Eternal Forrest, Nula had put her blade to good use. Lacking the childish disrespect for the blade so common amongst her male peers, the blade had found itself used almost entirely for practical applications. Never once had it been thrown into a tree, a practice that all too often left her male counterparts with chipped blades, and broken tips. She also still possessed all of her fingers, something that any of her male friends would not be able to claim had them ownership of her knife. Nula had more than once seen a foolish lack of respect for a blade lead to a myriad of scars for their owners, the likes of which would be substantially worse had the boys blades an energy field as hers. The sting in her thumb reminded her that she as not perfect, yet her calm respect for her tool had left far less marks upon her skin. Unbeknownst to Nula, her mature respect for the edge was a great source of pride for her Father. Her himself was missing the two toes off his right foot after accidently dropping the blade as a youth while twirling it for show. The resulting stumps were an excellent object lesson the first time he introduced her to the family heirloom. It was only her responsible nature that allowed him the confidence to pass it on to her at such an early age. After all, The blade could cut through stone like Grox-butter. Of course ownership of such a tool left her as the envy of every young man in the village, including those well past the age of boyhood. They should have known better by then she believed, fundamentally lacking the strange obsession with blades that so many creatures with the Y chromosome possessed.

Knowledge that she had never seen a material which could stand before her knife seemed to narrow down the options she felt worth considering. It stood to reason that the Ork's hide was not amongst the theoretical list of things that were beyond it's blade, and if she could act correctly, a good solid cut could be delivered before the monster could react. For a split second she imagined severing its head with a single swipe, an act recorded in the mythological texts of old. She distinctly remembered the tales of the Emperors son's and their heroic battles with the green skins. Beheading an Ork with a single swipe was a common theme in the grandiose tales. However Nula wasn't sure even sure if stories of giant men clad in holy armor were true, much less possible. She did know however that she was no demi-god. She had to treat this monster with the same cautious respect she treated her blade, or surly she _would_ die.

Another entirely weird thought crept into her mind. Was she so cowardly as to strike her foe from behind? Where was the honor in that? In all the old stories, the hero faced his enemy in honorable combat, and gained all the more respect by never sinking to the same degrading level as his foes. Nula glanced down at the beast, and took in its massive size. It had stepped into the moonlight, as was far more visible to her eyes. From its neck hung a string of human bodyparts, some of which seemed to still be oozing down its chest. The sight of which created an immediate need to vomit, and it took all of her control to keep still. Horror snaked through her veins, leaving a very really physiological reaction in her chest. _Yes _she decided. _She was so cowardly. _Besides, a monster who collected the remains of children as trophies surly was deigned no respect. Cold anger once again silenced her objections.

She would strike from behind, and Emperor willing, her first blow would kill the beast. It seemed reasonable enough to her that if the Ork had a neck, a blade could do a lot worse than being sunk into such a vital place. This worked out serendipitously with her location within the tree. The greenskins neck shot out from between its shoulders, placing the head nearly on level with its chest. Such design in the body protected the greenskin from an easy neck blow from behind, but left it open to a strike from above. Nula cursed under her breath for seemingly the hundredth time as she took in the scene. An arial blow did seem most reasonable, but she did not like the idea of potentially landing on the Ork's body. At least she was fairly certain she could count on her blade not getting stuck.

Her hazel eyes narrowed as she thought more about her current plan. While she was light, no more than a hundred pounds or so, Even her light weight, if applied in force to the edge of her blade, could cause complete devastation to the Greenskin. She sensed her heart rate increase as she dared to hope. If she did this right, there was no reason she couldn't lay the monster open from shoulder to hip, severing its entire spinal column from just the fall.

For just a second Nula flinched. She was not used to the idea of reveling in the act of killing. The biggest thing she had even killed was a type of small game, and even the necessary act of killing for food had made her uncomfortable. She had found a quite solace in her mother's arms that night, plagued by the occasional tear trailing down her cheek. Yet here she was, and she had just caught herself in the act of envisioning an extremely brutal action, and it hadn't shaken her. Placing that thought aside, she knew she did not have the time for such introspection. Yet she still felt uneasy.

However her emotions played out, her reason had not deviated from its original path. _Yes_, the creature had seen her village. _Yes_, without her intervention they would be attacked. _Yes_, she seemingly possessed the ability to stop that from happening, and yes, as far as her inexperienced mind could tell, she had a decent plan. Summoning her courage, she made a quick prayer to the Emperor, whoever he was, and committed herself to action.

Pushing herself to the balls of her feet, she once again leaned forward, and judged the distance from the branch to the beast directly below her. As she started to make her calculations, her hair fell forwards in front of her eyes. Something about the simple action made her feel that much more small. No hero was ever blinded by hair in his eyes. Such a mundane action fanned her doubts. What was she doing? Reaching up to brush the hair back out of her eyes, a thought struck her with such force that she almost slipped. _The Ork could grab her hair._ She paused in thought. _The Ork could grab anything loose._ She knew that if she couldn't kill the beast with on swipe, her only hope lay in her ability to stay outside of its reach. Something so mundane, so simple, and so easily forgettable, could have a massive impact on the next several moments of her life.

Young people are not known for their ability to plan ahead. Brash, and prone to action without thought, Nula almost sealed her fate once more in her hurry to rectify the situation. Feeling frightened about the "what could have been", as well as incredibly smart for noticing it, Nula instantly decided to cut her own hair. Grasping the golden stands in a fist, She brought the blade up to the knot _and…_

And she almost flicked the activation rune, preparing to slice her hair to a safer length. A mere instant away from applying the necessary pressure, and sending off a crackle of blue light which would have condemned her, Nula's entire body froze. For what seemed an eternity, Nula held her breath, listening to her heart race. So terrified by her near fatal mistake, It never occurred to her to even begin the process of self-berating. As she slowly drifted back to reality, a single thought crossed her mind_. She hadn't made the mistake_, and that was the important part. But was she about to make one now?

_Wasn't inaction even worse? _With a firm slice, she used the blade unshielded and removed most of her hair. In all of her fear and anticipation, she still found the ability to smile. _My Father is going to hate my new hair style._


	4. The thinkers Gambit

In exactly 26 seconds Nula would possess a memory which she would later recall as more exhilarating than her first intimate encounter. It would also haunt her that killing an Ork in close combat would happen so much sooner than the later. There was no doubt a certain cruelty in life that her childish hands would sink a blade into flesh well before her lips met another's. She was too young for either, but as with so many little girls, She had spent many a night dreaming of the kiss, and had not the callousness of life experience to even imagine the former. Ironically, both firsts would possess a similar quality: In both she would have no idea what she was doing, and would be completely ruled by fear. Unbeknownst to her, one of them would change her life forever.

The first order of business was to step out of the tree. After spending so much time in thought, once she had committed to killing the monster she had no reason to hesitate. Before she could rethink Nula felt the sudden sensation of gravity pulling her towards the earth. _There was no going back now._

Once in her life she had read a story in which time had slowed in the middle of an important action. Assuming that was in store for her, Nula was unprepared for the speed at which she closed in on the beast below her. Being anything but slow, it seemed to her as if she had gone from the highest reaches of the clouds too inches from the ground in a mere blink of an eye. Panicking, and without even a semblance of experience to draw from, Nula thumbed the activation rune on the blade far too early. As the field engulfed the mirror smooth blade, the traces of her blood not fully removed when she wiped the blade on her tunic, as well as the miniscule droplets of condensation gathered on the shining surface, were flash boiled by the engulfing field.

Acting as conduits of pure archaic energy, each bead of moisture disrupted the perfectly designed flow of activated power causing an imperfect spread. In the end it was not akin to electricity sparking between to wires, as it was the violent reaction of minutely unbalanced and slightly imperfect mathematic expansion which caused violent self-correction in the energy fields. While the liquid was indeed flash vaporized, the unequal expansion in force was the true source of her problem. Theoretically the field could be activated in perfect silence if it had a truly perfect and evenly distributed surface in which to cover. This possibility though was nearly _impossible_ to achieve. It was unknown whether this was the sole design flaw in an otherwise seemingly perfectly designed weapon, or if the reaction to mathematical imperfections was a desired effect.

Either way, the resulting effect was dazzling, or would have been in any other circumstance. Crystal blue light instantly enveloped the blade. Each droplet of moisture popped like a wet log in a fire, and sent a shimmering ripple through the otherwise perfectly smooth shield. In the darkness of the night, even the dim witted Ork had no problem noticing the sudden cacophony of color and sound. What could have been an instantly fatal blow was thwarted by the sudden, surprisingly fast, and entirely instinctual reaction of the beast. Looking up and back over his shoulder at the sound, he began the move to face her threat before she was even halfway through the fall. This removed his spine from its previous location, and instead placed his shoulder muscles and ribs into the path of her strike. Her blow was grievously _un_-fatal.

That did not mean that her strike was ineffectual however. Passing through several feet of muscle and bone, four inches of ray shielded Imperial steel traveled from the top of His left shoulder, severing vital muscles as she passed through to his left hip. While non-fatal, the strike had injured the Ork in a way that only an Ork could be injured, and still be left standing.

Nula slammed into the ground feet first. While perfectly experienced in the acrobatic play developed from years of exploring and playing in the woods with friends, Nula had never made such a leap before. She had never a reason to fall in such a manner. Being completely off balanced and possessing two legs which were already curled into her body, she had no room to gracefully absorb the impact, and as such, her body was left to the whims of physics. The downward momentum caused her to slam forward into the back of the Ork's legs.

Already brutally wounded, arching its back in reaction to the sudden massive trauma, the weight of a hundred pound girl bouncing off the ground and into its legs caused the beast to fall backwards, landing inches from her body. As she rolled to a stop her eyes caught a spray of ichor black Blood from the several foot long gash she inflicted, leaving her essentially blind. As her vision went black, she saw the violent blue blade tumbling through the air, hissing and crackling from the massive amount of blood burning away. Reacting as if that were the only danger to her, he covered her neck and face with her arms instinctually hoping to protect against the violent edge. This was of course a futile gesture, and it was either extreme luck or an act of providence that brought the weapon to a standstill next to her head, its blade missing her form by about a foot.

Her most explicit curse of the evening was completely drowned out by the explosive scream of the Ork. Writhing in agony, his flailing limbs threw blood in all directions, and created an added cacophony of metal on metal as his blade clattered against his chest piece. Completely within the grip of Panic now, and coughing from the sensation of having the air nocked from her lungs, It was only adrenaline which brought her to feet in a stumbling attempt to regain the advantage. Completely antithetical to her usual nature, Nula's usually well thought out motions were replaced with panic made manifest in action.

Half standing, half kneeling, her eyes burned as if coals had been poured into them. The Ork's blood reeked, and tasted even worse. Her little arms snapped to her face in an attempt to clear her vision. She would later recall that there were few things in her memory more terrifying than the scenario she had found herself in. Blind, short of breath, unknowing where her weapon was, and completely inundated with rage filled screams of a monster capable of literally ripping her in half with its bare hands, She had all the motivation she needed to get her vision back in working order.

As she desperately crushed her sleeves into her face, wiping away as much of the putrid viscera as she could manage, she heard the labored breathing of the Ork as it tried to push itself to its feet. Her reaction was to wipe all the harder. She blessedly had the foresight not to take off running in her blinded state, as she would not have made it more than several feet before violently crashing into a tree. Instead she worried away at her face, allowing her bodies natural remedy of tears to flush out her eyes. Quickly her sight returned to her allowing her to take in the scenario. The burning sensation seemed to only grow as the seconds progressed. In the moonlight her face was ghoulish image to behold. Covered in dirt and pitch black Orkoid blood, her tears carved valleys through the mess creating a negative space in the rancid layer through which her fair skin reflected the cold blue light. The image would have been seared into the minds of any person who witnessed it, had she not been so entirely alone.

Locking her blurred vison on the crystal blue light at her feet, she quickly reached over to grab the handle. She was thankful the grip was red, as in her blurred state, black leather would have been impossible to see, and she did not have the half second needed to waste feeling around for the handle. As her diminutive fingers wrapped around the handle, he eyes caught sight of something massive closing in on her.

There was no time to react. She barley had the time to recognize the shape of the Ork's boot as a massive kick was delivered into her ribs. She was sent tumbling through the air and slammed against a tree. Whether it was the kick, the impact of the tree, or a combination of both, Nula didn't need the specifics to tell that at least on rib had been broken. Being no storybook hero, She let out a horrendous scream, made of one part pain, and one part fear.

Bouncing off the trunk, she rolled across the ground, each rotation applying pressure to her broken ribs. The pain was so intense that she was certain she had somehow rolled over the blade several times. Coming to a stop on her back, her mind was immediately clouded both by the force of the impact, and the overwhelming pain as it radiated through her body with each breath. Miraculously she hadn't lost her wind this time, and her rapid breathes as she coped with the injury shot pain into her over and over again. While more excruciating than anything she had ever felt in her life, the pain had the surprising benefit of keeping her in the moment.

_The Ork moved faster than he had ever dreamed possible_. Almost as soon as she came to stop, the moon above her was blocked out by the almost demonic silhouette of the Greenskin above her. As he twisted his blade back in preparation for a strike, The moonlight illuminated the edges of his torso, giving the black outline the much needed definition in all three dimensions necessary for her to judge distance. Howling in blind rage, the Ork's right arm raised over its head with the massive cleaver. Its ugly blade was so tarnished that it failed to reflect much light at all. It was the pitch black blood that streamed all over his left side which when illuminated by the moonlight, left a curiously beautiful image in her mind's eye. Had she not been engaged in a life or death struggle, such a sight would have merited the same studious observation one would give a rather inspiring painting.

As the massive blade ripped through the air towards her position, Nula immediately rolled to her left and out from under the arc. Purely on instinct, without even the semblance of preplanning, she brought her blade up to meet the oncoming blade. The momentum of her roll brought the blades together with her body safely out of harm's way. In essence her own movement out of danger brought her blade to bare in the same fashion as a purposeful strike. Edge to edge both blades collided at blinding speeds.

Were it any other blade in her possession, the resulting collision of blades would have broken her arm and ripped her weapon from her grasp. On pure strength alone Nula had literally no chance against the Ork's strike. However her archaic weapon more than balanced the odds in her favor. For the second time in mere seconds the Ork was unpleasantly surprised as his own weapon was cleaved in two by the pathetic creature underneath him. The blade passed through the Orkish steel so smoothly that Nula at first didn't realize what had happened. There was simply_ no _resistance. However at the same time the impact did not create a smooth and perfect cut. While the blow bisected the blade into two large pieces, the clash had a shattering effect as well, and several shards of iron exploded out in random directions.

As Nula rolled to her feet one of the pieces found it destination millimeters from her left eye socket. She let out another yelp as the shrapnel deflected off her eye socket. The impact laid her skin open, and blood immediately began to pour down her face. Had the shrapnel hit any more to the left, she would have been blinded in that eye permanently.

Flinching at the impact, Nula rolled to her side and put the tree between her and the Ork. This gave her a much needed instant of recovery time. Taking a deep breath, her whole body flinched as her nerves dutifully informed her brain that she was injured.

"Enough of this", she growled under her breath. Her fear was quickly bleeding away into a red hot fury. Feeling surprisingly accomplished at her previous avoidance of the Ork's strike, and the destruction of its blade, she mentally reframed her position from that of the defender to the attacker. Tears mixed with blood as they dripped to the ground. Taking in one more breath, and bracing herself for the next wave of pain, The strangest of feelings took hold at her core. An irrational sense of confidence rose into her chest, and her courage was restored. She didn't know if she could kill the Ork. But she decided that in the next few seconds _one of them was going to die._

As if the Ork had read her mind, and found itself in agreement with her, its massive form stepped around the tree. Holding the stump of its cleaver in its right hand The Ork Let loose from its very core a sound that would haunt her the rest of her days. While she was nowhere near the first person in existence to hear the might Waaagh explode from the Ork, She was possibly one of a very select few children who had dared to stand, weapon in hand, and face the brunt of a Waaagh without running. That she didn't run was testament to her courage and grit was of no question to anyone. However the fire which had so recently swelled into her chest shrank back from the scene in front of her. Even injured and limping, The Power of the Ork was something to behold.


	5. Mommy

Nula's world was already wrought asunder. Rampaging devils tore her serenity to shreds with their machinations, and reality itself was about to face the same troubled realignment. For thirteen years Nula had never considered herself "Supernatural", as rightly she shouldn't, for she was not. However lacking supernatural qualities does not shelter one from the possibility of being touched by the divine, fate, or pure absurd luck. However the average mortal chooses to make sense of the inexplicable is irrelevant, for once someone has touched the unknown, they are forever changed.

As the Ork lunged forward to strike at her with Its ruined blade, Nula found herself moving in reaction to his charge. In that second the most peculiar of things happened. _Time slowed down_. Not in an illusory sense of flashed memories as she had expected during the fall. The world literally began to slow down. She felt a sudden chill go through from the handle of her knife and into her palm. Her head started the turn to look at the blade, and she was left even more in awe. Her mind was literally moving at such speeds that she was able to think through events in such a way as to create the illusion of time slowing down, though she did not yet understand that. It was not that she was moving faster as the world around her slowed down, on the contrary her entire body felt as if it were moving through a thick fluid.

As her head made the seemingly eternal journey to glance from Orkish-Horror to her hand, Nula's eyes focused on the near unbelievable sight before her. The Blade was different than before. The ruin on the pummel was emanating a darkness so vivid that it seemed to suck the light from around it inwards. The edges of the pure blackness were illuminated by a cold blue haze. Ropes of blue-rimmed blackness flowed from the pummel to the blade. What was usually a bright blue storm of flickering light had transformed into a sea of contrasting brilliant hues of blue and ribbons of eternal blackness. As the ribbons of darkness passed from pummel to blade, they snaked through and around her hand, and seemingly pierced into her forearm. Where each robe of darkness ended in her skin, the blue rims seemed to separate and flow across her skin dissipating roughly 6 inches from the point in which they separated from the darkness. The sensation was strangely pleasant. From the tips of her fingers to her elbow, the entire scene was like some ethereal Aurora which buzzed and vibrated on her skin. The secondary effect was immediately calming.

She was again shocked when she realized that she could see the world around her almost perfectly. What was once dimly illuminated by the moon was now easily visible through a light blue tint. Everything the moonlight touch glowed a bright white, and even the darkest of recess still had a radiance for her to make sense.

There was certainly some sort of force motivating and focusing her thoughts. Nula was still a child, and at the best of times her mind would have bubbled for so many questions and ideas that any semblance of focus would have been impossible. She was unaware of this effect however, as merely reflecting on its existence would have been a distraction. As she breathed in, her mind perceived the half second breath as an eternity. She reveled in the sensation of fresh air as it rejuvenated her soul, and danced through the resulting pain as her nerves did their duty.

She looked forward at the Ork, and saw the impending arc of his strike. While she had shortened his blade significantly, the stump still had an edge. Not that it needed one to make short work of her slight frame. She now had all the time she needed to think through what to do next. It was a simple thing to see where the blade was going to end up, and she could feel her own speed at work against the Ork's. Being faster than he was, and possessing the time to think through her next strike, The Ork suddenly went from aggressor to victim.

To the outside observer, It appeared that Nula masterfully ducked under the incoming swing, and delivered her own slash directly through the Ork's pelvic region. To Nula the result was entirely different and exponentially more terrible to behold. Her serene peace was torn asunder as she connected her strike. Where the first slash had been delivered in darkness and in the mere blink of an eye, the second strike was played out before her in excruciating detail. Thankfully the Blade offered no resistance as it began the seemingly eternal track through the Ork's body. Had she the responsibility to feel the blow in all its detail, the sensory experience may have destroyed her.

Nula was given a ghastly lesson in fluid dynamics as the Ork's flesh began to separate around her weapon. The ghoulish pale green flesh split like a ripe melon as beads of liquid viscera began to explode from the newly opened wound. As the blade continued its resistance free path, fate delivered an entirely new sensation as the Ork's blood erupted at high speeds and began to slowly impact her exposed skin. Forced to experience every drop of life giving fluid against her skin, Her young mind was given one of two options. She could harden her thoughts, and re-cognize the brutal experience away with a hardened heart, or she could give in to the horror before her.

The world had not yet worked its cruelest wonders on the young girl, and she simply lacked the ability to harden her joyful soul. Instead her anger faltered against a torrent of crackling horror. While rationally she knew her action was along the correct path, There was simply no way for her emotional state to control the sudden rush. A cold pressure started at her shoulders and collapsed into her core before rebounding into her extremities. Wave of anxious terror fluttered underneath her skin as a torrent of noxious tar soaked her sleeve and stained her skin. If there was a place of eternal punishment as theorized in the mythological texts, Nula was now in it.

For all of the advantages The Ork race possess, it is still limited by the fundamental rules of existence. As the blade demonstrated the Ork could be cut. Gravity still held its essence within her authoritative grasp. The Ork, like most other races, possessed an internal structure system of bone to give it support. As Nula's blade passed through its pelvis, the entire system which allowed its mobile existence was instantly destroyed. As the Ork reacted to the sudden trauma, its powerful muscles applied incredible force into the pivot of its hips. Had the Ork a complete Pelvis, the reaction would have given it the ability to absolutely smash Nula's tiny frame. Instead the resulting force acted upon a cleanly sliced system and the Ork tore itself apart.

As the blade broke from the other side of the Ork, Time caught up to parody with reality, and Nula fell to the ground. Unprepared for the sudden necessity of normal reaction speeds, Nula failed to step in such a way to catch her own momentum and literally threw herself to the ground with the strike as her mind failed to readjust to the transition.

Hitting the ground hard, The Ethereal shielding granted by the blade to ward against the pain of her injuries disappeared as her mind caught up, and Nula felt the entirety of the strike against her already broken ribs. Her shriek of pain eventually turned to tears as she rolled to her knees. Screaming the tears into the earth, she looked to the sight in front of her and was once again greeted by horror. Half of an Ork lay before her howling in pain as it thrashed about. Twisting in agony, a fresh spray of blood showered her and left Nula vomiting into the ground. At the faintest recesses of her mind Nula noticed, and was thankful for the fact that none of her own blood come out with the vomit.

Staggering to her feet, half crying, half screaming with every breath in, Nula was surprised to see the Ork had stopped thrashing. This was by no means a sign of its acceptance of death. Instead the beast had locked eyes with her, and began dragging its wrecked body to her position with its massive arms.

She had every ability in the world to escape the situation. _I can leave, _she realized. Panic threatened to grip her as she quickly looked for a path of egress. _But…_ She hadn't killed the beast. Not knowing what the creatures where truly capable of, A nagging memory from one of her books kept intruding into her plans. Once again she wrestled with the notion of providential aide as a memory which had stuck with her for years seemingly gained a whole new meaning.

"_Having slayed the Emerald Feind, The Lion was enraged to redundantly slay its mechanical parody."_

What this meant exactly was beyond her. However she had the striking sensation that if she ran now, she would potentially see this creature again, and in that next encounter, it would have friends. Making up her mind, Nula Stepped to finish the task. Kicking mud into its eyes as it crawled face first to her, the beast howled and tossed its arms up. Nula took advantage of the distraction, and drove her blade between its eyes before pulling strait up.

The flailing form instantly dropped.

In a mere 5 minutes, Nula had undergone a radical transition. Bearing the emotional wounds of a forced growth from child to adult, Nula's soul bore the same appearance of her face. Twisted, wracked, its beauty hidden underneath an unwelcome blanket of filth (but not forgotten), There was no sense of shame as she whispered out a simple word and broke into sobs.

"_Mommy" _


	6. Flakes

Djoor was a big man. Spending his life in the quarries both harvesting stone, and perfecting the art of stone based craftsmanship, His body was close to that of stone itself. There was few in existence that had the nerve to look him in the eye, as he was imposing in the extreme. His grizzled exterior bore scars the way a field bore rows. Each was planted in his work and changed the owning surface forever. His face carried the same features and displayed a presence that was hard to ignore. The skin was akin to leather, given character by its difficult life. Wild extremes of cruel heat, and hellish cold tattooed old age into his surface and obliterated his youthful features. Stubble like sandpaper continuously sprouted form his face, despite its daily encounter with his sharpest of blades. By the middle of his 14 hour work day a new crop of hair would form, and leave him looking all the more grizzled.

The problem was that Djoor's attitude was anything but what his face displayed. While he wore a scowl which could sunder a mountain, a smile could just as quickly take hold, and his laughter always stood out at night as they worked. Many of his closest friends remarked that having a daughter was what saved him, as had he stayed a bachelor forever, there would be nothing to soften his heart. After the death of his wife, many worried in silence that good old Djoor would be lost to them. It had been a rough road, a VERY rough road, but having a child like Nula was a better reason than most to get up in the morning.

Truth be told, he wondered daily how he had been so lucky to have an angel like her in his life. She was a blessing from the emperor, or whatever spirit of goodness played its machinations through time. She was the spitting image of her mother, and it brought a smile to his eye every time he saw her, as memories of times past would be rekindled. It was not just the reaches of memory that brought a smile, as Nula herself was a child any parent would be proud of. Intelligent, charming, considerate, and pleasant of spirit, He was blessed.

It had been a long day for Djoor. Working stone was no easy task. However it was rewarding to bend the very essence of his world to his will. He worked odd hours to be sure, and that did not help matters sometimes. A day night cycle on his home was roughly equivalent to one and a half Terran cycles, or something like that. He could never remember. Those little factoids were the realm of his daughter, interesting knowledge to be sure, but rarely of any direct use to his day to day work life. Still he respected her thirst for knowledge, as he had little wish to see her continue on in his line of work.

A thick robe of predatory hide adorned his aching frame as he settled in for the night. Placing his feet onto the cushion, he stared out the view from his living room. As with most houses in their village, his was carved directly into the Cliffside. The living room was at the base of an elongated set of stair about 25 feet long wide ended at a smooth sunken wooden floor, expertly installed by his brother. Across from the stair was the cliff wall, and a massive window was carved out by hand, allowing him to see forever as he drank the Tezki Tea. To his right was a fire place which hadn't seen any use since the light-curfew universally agreed upon by his people. The open air window made for cold nights, but theirs was a world rich in resources, and the women in his village were renowned for their expertise in crafting blankets and the like. It also was a greatly unneeded, but appreciated excuse to cuddle up to his daughter at night. His was one of a few families for whom the light reduction was not terribly problematic, as he had (along with all the other quarry workers) learned the ancient art of touch based reading. This skill was greatly needed as they occasionally had to work in utter darkness. The fiery torches they so often used were problematic in the tight crevices into which they explored to gather the rarer stones so desired for their artistic qualities. Many of the family books were printed both in letters as well as tactical glyphs, and He and Nula often spent a cozy evening reading stories in the dark as they laughed and talked. Nula herself was becoming more adept at tactile reading as she grew.

He was blessed with this slight distraction and rambling of pleasant memories for only a while before the anxiety started up once more. Staring into the Eternal Forrest, it was not long before he noticed The Crawl. The damn thing was like a cancer slowly killing all they cared for. While it was miles away, the moonlight caught off the smoke which seemingly eternally burned from the gaping scar. Near the horizon, where The Crawl seemed disappeared with everything else, there could be seen a reddish glow which reflected off any clouds. Something was making light out there, and it seemed to grow with The Crawl.

Beyond the ever present disturbance offered by its presence, a far more personal hell made its way back into his mind. Djoor was a man of honor and principle, and when his daughter had asked to serve the village, he found himself in quite the bind. Every fiber of his being screamed disapproval of the idea of his little light facing such potential danger, while his sense of Duty compelled him to allow her the right to take this step into adulthood. It was a real threat, and he knew full well that he was potentially offering his child as a sacrifice to the greater good of his community. However there was more than just his self-imposed sense of obligation to his people, Djoor felt the same obligation to his child. While his parental instincts was to protect her from herself, he knew that she had the same right as did they all to play whatever role she could in her own destiny. The Ork threat was just as real for her as it was for anyone else, and she had the right to respond to it the best she knew how.

She was also _very _well suited for the task at hand. Her small size gave her an immeasurable advantage as a scout, and she was brilliant for her age. Knowing fully well what the Oks represented to her people, Nula had the right to face the threat to her life as best she could, and it brought tears to his eyes of pride as she had first told him her intentions of volunteering. A host of emotions, positive and sorrowful both, overwhelmed him in that moment, and he was left to do nothing more than to embrace her in hos bear hug, and just hold her for a while.

"Its okay dad" she had said, feeling his quite tears in the silence. She had offered no illogical assurances of her safety, for they both knew how impossible such promises would be. Instead she had allowed him the right to be human. That night as they sat on the couch, he had given her the blade. Djoor always knew that someday she would take ownership of the blade, as had he and his fathers before him, and that night was seemingly a providential moment to symbolically acknowledge her first steps from childhood to adulthood.

"What will you name it" he had asked, watching her feel its balance in her grasp. Alric had been the name he had given the blade the day his father gave it to him. It was a name chosen to honor his father, as it was the name of his father's father. Nula's grandfather had swelled in pride as his son paid homage to a man so important in his life.

"I don't know" came a whisper. She was almost left speechless in the moment, as her young mind appreciated the importance of such a gesture.

"Well", Djoor said with a calm laugh, "You'll have plenty of time to think about that as you work at night. Emperor willing, you'll be bored every night, and never see one of those monsters". A small laugh was her reply. Laying in his arms the two of them stared into the night and soon fell asleep.

" What a wonderful life I've had" Djoor muttered to himself as he sipped on the Tea. He sincerely hoped that his daughter would have the same opportunity to grow old, and continued on in deep thought, trying not to let his worries overwhelm him. He had already decided long ago to be awake every night when she returned from her shift. So there he sat, deep in thought, and carried the burden of duty and fatherhood, unaware of the small girl painfully approaching the masterfully carved door which adorned their home.

Limping, and covered in filth, Nula had already called for the village elders, and her superior sent her home to await their arrival. She had rejected his offers of care and aide, as it was only a deep sense of responsibility that caused her to detour to make a report. She desperately wanted only one thing in that moment. After the hellish climb to the top of the mountain, broken ribs and all, it was the presence of her father that she needed. Her superior acquiesced to her refusal of aide, and instead decided to call the elders to Djoor's house for the report.

All of this was received by Nula in a blur. Stumbling home in an exhaustion deeper than she had ever felt before, it was only the crippling pain in her ribs that kept her awake. She was only several doors away from her home, yet each step seemed an eternity to her. The stench of the Ork's vital filth had long since overpowered the usual brilliant smells given off by the villages floral decorations, and had proceeded to chip and flake off after several hours of drying on her flesh.

It was an amazing act of dignity and perseverance that drove the young girl to her house. In the night time one of the few mechanical wonders of her home was an old but effective lift, used to carry large items or weary travelers up the mountain. Hidden behind the massive waterfall which plunged from town square to the Forrest below, It was decided that in an emergency the lift could be used with approval. While some would argue that Nula's circumstances more than warranted such emergency approval, she reasoned the potential that other Orkish scouts could notice the noise and lights warranted the effort of climbing by foot. After all, Her broken ribs would have earned her nothing if she gave away the location of her home in the process of reporting in.

Half way up the mountain, the rationale of her choice was tested against the reality of its consequences. As she took each difficult step, her ribs screamed in protest. Breathing hard at the exertion only heightened the pain. Nula was tempted repeatedly to stop, to wait for the day, to take a rest, or anything to make the pain stop. But Nula was motivated by the right choice. Any discomfort aside, and pain ignored, Nula simply knew the importance of her task, and thusly committed to it. It was an act of character few people would be capable of, even less of which were children. But that didn't make the pain hurt less. By the time she had ascended to her home, She was exhausted beyond anything she had known before. Her whole body felt as a mixture of pain and lead, which explained the seemingly impossible distance of three doors which separated her from her house.

Djoor was surprised to hear the sound of something clanking against the door. Half asleep, and deep in his thoughts, it took several moments to react to the noise pulling him into consciousness. As soon as he realized who it must be, Djoor snapped to him feet, and nearly ran to the door, For even the grizzliest of men react like children for the girls in their lives.


	7. To Be Clean

There were tears. That much was a certainty for the father and daughter. Hers were of relief; she had made it home safely, and was able to be a kid again. Gone were the responsibilities she had inherited on watch, now she could just be 13 again. That she had persevered this long, and seen her task to the end was than enough to make her father proud, and there was no shame in her tears as she was lost in his hug.

Djoor's tears were a little less joyful, but just as sweet. Blessed relief swept his body, but was countered be the horrible sight that lay grasped in his arms. His reason for life, his little light, bore the scars of her first real encounter with life, and it was a terrible sight to behold.

As he had opened the door, for a split second he hadn't realized who stood before him in the dark. The stench emanating from the diminutive and shivering frame was powerful, and he had flinched back for only a second. His surprise at the sight before him was large, for going to the door to greet his daughter, he had instead opened it to… what wretched thing was before him? It opened its eyes and look to him, and in a split second it all clicked. The little hazel orbs locked onto his eyes, and showed signs of wavering. Red from hours spent in tears and sorrow, Nula's eyes looked unsure as she stood before him in silence. Was she still welcome home after everything? A pang of very illogical fear knotted into her stomach. Was she somehow broken? Unwelcome? Had she disappointed her father-

Djoor burst in tears as the sudden horrific understanding popped into his mind. Relief and terror flooded in equal proportions as she quickly kneeled down and scooped his daughter into his embrace.

"My child!" he whispered into her ears as he held her tight. Protected by his warm embrace, Nula began to cry. "It's okay little one" he spoke gently. "It's okay." As she was held in his arms, the fear of rejection or of failure was obliterated in Nula. And both cried together in the moonlight.

"I killed an Ork" she sobbed into his chest. Nula felt his body recoil at the news.

"What?" came his reply. Djoor straitened his back to look her in the eyes. Placing a hand on each of her shoulders, they locked eyes.

Nula exploded into words as she tried to explain the events of the night in mere seconds "I killed one of those monsters It saw our village and I tried to kill it with your knife and it didn't die and then something weird happened."

"You killed a greenskin?" Djoor whispered. Nula nodded meekly. Djoor's eyes widened as he took in the news. His little girl… did what? His eyes scanned over her form, taking in the grizzly sight before him. Signs of her humanity showed where the tears washed away the Orkish filth. "You killed a greenskin…" he said, this time as a statement. His voice broke slightly as it expressed wonder at the thought.

"I think there was magic." came Nula's whispered response. She had no other way to explain it, and she had only begun to examine her experience during the fight as she climbed the mountain. What could possibly have happened was mostly lost on her, although she was fair certain it had something to do with the blade. As she thought back to the magical effect, and the experience of killing the Ork, a wave of emotion crashed into her and she broke into sobs again.

Knowing that his little girl was in her own little hell, Djoor easily picked up her petite body in his arms and carried her into the house. Firmly protected in his arms, Nula continued to cry softly.

" Let's clean you up" Djoor said as he walked through their house. He had no concern for the cleanliness of his own clothing as he carried her into the house. The putrid Orkish viscera was sure to stain his robe, but in that moment he could not care less. Realizing that what Nula needed more than anything else was to feel normal and clean, Djoor carried her to their washing area.

Each house in the village was masterfully planned and placed with purpose by Stone masons and quarry workers. Built around the massive waterfall which flowed from the mountains to their village, the workers had carved funnels and paths through the rocks which diverted the raging water continuously into hundreds of little culverts and tunnels. Each one snaked and twisted its way to a house, providing a fresh source of unlimited spring water to each dug out home. Each house possessed room for bathing in which a torrent of frigid water splashed from the wall like a hose and into a carved indent into the stone floor. The run of water was then led by another series of tunnels to one main column which ran through the center of the internally built village. There dirty and used water from every home collected as a torrent which eternally fed into the lake below.

The brilliance of the system was such that each home had its own independent water supply, completely cut off from every other home. The myriad of tunnels bored through the solid rock would be dazzling to any imperial architect had they the impetus to visit this tiny little village of several hundred. Djoor himself was one of the few who possessed the knowledge and skill to us the relic laser-bore possessed by the mason guild. He had carved the internal waste disposal chutes for the last ten homes built and carved from the Cliffside village, and had found the laser bore to be an amazing relic from the past, far superior to the chisel and mallets they so frequently used.

The older houses in the village, built several hundred years earlier had access to the hot springs which ran through the naturally occurring cracks and holes in the earth. Djoors was one such home, and possessed a natural pool of steaming hot water which constantly emptied and filled itself during the months. Luckily this night the pool was mostly full.

Djoor did not take the time to undress Nula. She was his daughter, and still a young child, but he respected her dignity. Truth be told in that moment she wouldn't have cared. Holding her exhausted frame in his arms, he stepped into the torrent of icy cold water and immersed the both of them. She gasped as the sudden change in temperature shocked her system. The flood of cold water was unpleasant, but unimaginably refreshing at the same time. Her personal tears mixed with the flood that sprayed down over their bodies, and she found warmth against her fathers arms as the frozen spray stripped the filth from her body. Offensive flakes of Orkish remnants were blasted from her skin, and washed form her clothing. Dirt and blood were rinsed from her frame, and collected in the basin at Djoor's feet. The independent design of each shower was important for just such an occasion, lest the putrid clots of dirt and blood visit the homes of the people below them.

Shivering from the sudden blast of blessedly clean water, Nula clung to her father's robe as she drew much needed warmth from his exposed shoulder. The water began to pool in the places where she pressed against him. As she shivered in his arms, she found the oddest sense of calm watching as the rivlets of spring water traveled over and around her body. In some places the liquid soaked into her clothing, and then gentle spilled down her exposed legs. Aside from overbearing coldness in her core, on her extremities the sensation of water had a calming effect. Djoor shifted his weight and pressed into her side. Nula let out a cry of pain and recoiled away from the pressure.

Holding her away from his body, Djoor looked down into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"It hit me really hard" she said through a grimaced face. Djoor apologized, and made sure to avoid any pressure against the injured area. Truth be told, It took everything in Djoors control to keep a calm veneer. He did not wish to trouble his little girl any more than she had already been, and he knew that flying into a rage would do her no good. She needed the comfort of home, and the sense of normalcy. However inside he felt a torrent of pressure building up. It wasn't as if he had no ill will before towards the monsters that threatened him home, but somehow _this _was the final straw. Something harmed his little girl, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to kill every single Greenskin he could get his hands on.

Nula felt the sensation of her father trembling. Curled up in his arms, she looked to his face and saw something altogether terrible to behold. Djoor stared into space with something altogether terrifying to behold upon his face. She had only seen him this mad once before, and that had been the night her mother died.

"Dad" She whispered. "Are you okay?" Relief filled her as his face immediately melted from anger to compassion. With a warm smile he greeted her gaze.

"I am." Came his reply. "Now that I know you are safe". Seeing that she was clean, he stepped out of the torrent and carried her to the heated pool. "Warm up little one." Came his soft command. "I have some tea on the heating slab." Djoor gently set her down next to the pool, and urged her to warm up, before turning his back and walking away. He made a note to find some calming leaf for her pain as walked to the preparation cove.

Alone in the room, Nula stripped off her soaking clothing, and set them on the edge of the pool. She took extra care to set her knife on top of the mess, before slipping into the steaming waters. Her shivering stopped almost immediately as the welcoming spring embraced her body. Slipping down into the waters, Nula came to a rest with her face just above the surface. The warmth of the water on her freshly cleaned skin did wonders to replace the vile feeling left behind by her encounter with the Ork. Somewhat floating in the water, the weight was taken off the broken rib, and her pain was greatly diminished. There would be plenty of time for her to talk, to share her experience, and to ask her father what he knew about the magic of the blade. Right now however, aside from the pain in her side, Nula was at peace.


	8. Burny Dance

"Scuz me boss" came the shrill question. Its voice was grating beyond compare, and Tniffguff was half tempted to step on it. Tniffguff was the by far the largest Ork in the encampment, and that made him the boss. Not just any boss either, Guff was a proud participant in the age old art of Orkish engineering, The title of which to a human would sound roughly equivalent to a hocked loogie followed by two burps and a growl. What it meant was that Tniffguff was a Mek, A Big-Mek. He was plagued by illusions of grandeur and inspirational flashed of new and grand ways to bring death to all that stood in his path. Wear some beings would run or hide form such madness constantly haunting their minds, Guff relished in every bizarre image that flashed by, often feeling overwhelmed by the sheer volume of blessings that Gork and Mork trusted to their faithful servant every day.

This morning alone he had already envisioned a new type of boot which, if he could figure out how to cross it with a Tellly-porta, would allow him to stomp his enemies from anywhere on the battle field. It brought a gruesome smile to his face, and waves of pride in his chest to imagine being able to give the boot to any pale skin stupid enough to face him on the field of battle. Of course he would let one of his lieutenants try out the device first, Guff had an instinctive knowledge of the result of a malfunctioning Telly-Porta, again granted to him by the genetic blueprints gifted by his creators.

The shrill voice come from the diminutive shape before him, a gretchin barley 2 feet tall. Small and goblin like, the wretch stood trembling barely to his knees. Guff's eyes narrowed as he slowly brought the entirety of his cruel visage to bear. Overwhelming horror exploded into the gretchin's body, and it instinctively flinched.

"Wot." Came Tnffguff's heavy reply. It was not so much a question as it was a challenge to the little beast. It would be hard pressed for the pathetic little git to convince Guff that its interruption was merited, and from the looks of things, the Gretchin had realized this as well. Summoning every ounce of courage IT possessed, the little beast squeeked out a reply.

"Da lad Mogga wanted to know… Wot you want don with all this wood?" Tniffguff pulled his head up in simulation of contemplative thought. Daring to believe that he had avoided the Big Mek's ire, the gretchin stared up in wonderment. He did not last more than a second before a massive iron shod boot punted him across the field, through a wall, and into a pit full of snarling squigs.

A sadistic and hearty laugh erupted from Tniffguff as he threw a hand into the air and barked "10 points fer dah big brain!" He was immediately distracted from himself congratulations by an itch on his exposed back. Grabbing one of his comicly sized wrenches, he scratched the itch as his mind imitated deep thought.

_Wot are wez gunna do wiv all dat wood? Dat smek makes a shiteside aweful armor. I can't make meks frum it… wot ta do, wot ta do. _The question of what to do with all the wood continued to play in his mind as he traveled across the camp, stopping by random places to whip boys to shape, sometimes figuratively, and often literally. As they cleared out the forest, the unintended side consequence was more wood than he knew what to do with. They needed metal if they were to give birth to their God's desires, and this fibrous material was nothing more than a weed to be rooted out as they worked and searched for minerals and settlements to loot.

The initial mob of boys crawled from their pits almost half a year ago, and he had been one of the few to clobber the rest into shape. They had no idea how they had been born on this planet. There was no lingering genetic memory that spoke of the Ork invasion several hundred years ago, nor did any of their lot understand the basics of Orkish reproduction. The simple fact was that several Ork spores had lain dormant for more than several hundred years before eventually coming to life. In activation the spores gave birth to the original mess of Orks who had quickly come to heel under Tniffguff's urge to kick things.

It wasn't until recently that the band of Orks, then only several hundred strong had overrun an imperial column. The fighting was brutal, and utterly beloved by every single greenskin. Where the human soldier had fled in terror, or sobbed pathetic tears as they were ripped asunder, the Orks had simply laughed and roared with glee as they finally were allowed to engage in their most basic of instincts.

TniffGuff remembered the battle with great fondness. While he had no problem krumpin his fellow greenskin, it was special treat to go to battle against something altogether inferior. While he lacked the culture and the eloquence of thought to express his sensory longings with any sort of skill, He was given a sense of life as the sights, smells and sounds of battle permeated his every being. His massive heart had begun to thump like a diesel engine, and battle was met.

That first contact had been fought out of raw violence and fury. Lacking the materials needed to express his most audacious of inventions, Guff had instead given into his bloodlust fully, and descended into the ranks of Human infantry like a BullGrox lit on fire. Being a Mek, he excelled in creative applications of technology and objects. When his massive wooden club had over the back of the imperial commander, he had simple resorted to using the commander itself as a rather flimsy beating stick.

Truth be told, It was a matter of extreme luck that this little band had not been wiped out in that first skirmish. Lacking any tools other than wooden sticks and stones, The newly formed Ork tribe would have been decimated by the Imperial armor. It was only an act of cosmic luck, or devilish providence that the day had been humid and hot. The tank crews, lacking the rigid discipline forged in constant battle had been traveling with their hatches open, and guns unmanned. No imperial soldier had fired a shot in anger in over 200 years, and the positions had become largely symbolic. The open hatches however had allowed TniffGuff's boy's easy access to soft and pink humans on the inside.

Guff was exceedingly intelligent for an Ork, and grasping the inherent genetic memory of guns and their applications, he understood instinctively how important it was for himself in particular to avoid the business end of the cannons. It had taken all of his charisma, anger, and most vicious threats of violence, but he had managed to keep his boys silent and on their leashes. At the sound of his ferocious Waaagh, The entire lot of them had descended on the ranks, and wiped the imperials out to a man. There was a special place in his heart for the memory of his boys climbing into the open tanks, and the resulting screams of terror and Orkish laughter.

Mid thought Guff came to stop near the mess area. A band of Orks sat around a massive bonfire and took turns hacking slices of meat off the one part raw, and one part blackened beast they had haphazardly tossed in the coals. The life of an Ork was simple. These boys would kill anything he asked them to, as long as he provided them with the opportunity to do so. He didn't even have to feed them, Their lust for violence was such that given the promise of death he had for anyone of them who killed another Ork, their only outlet was hunting the biggest game possible, and killing it with their bare hands.

Blades were still a rarity for the Orks. It wasn't a lack of ability to make them, but instead a lack of base materials needed for Guff to work his magic. The imperial tanks had only provided so much material. In fact his inability to craft better weapons of murder was greatly responsible for his sore mood, and the increase in objects and gretchin getting the boot. Sure he had plenty of wicked ideas for how to turn the wood into objects of death, but it just felt wrong to him, crude and ineffective. Guff knew he was destined for so much more than sharpened sticks. He just needed to materials to make the stuff he needed. _I could kill dah whole lot of ez 'ere humize._

Staring into the bonfire, Guff had an idea. If he had so much of this useless wood lying around, He saw no reason not to make the biggest fire he could imagine. Feeling the sudden surge of excitement in his chest, knowledge of proper shape and form popped into his mind, and within seconds Guff had a plan to make an absolutely absurd fire. He would need to get the boys to work stacking, for within a week he wanted to light this planet on fire. A cruel smile replaced the scowl on his face as he turned to one of the boys.

"Oi!" he grunted, demanding the boy's attention. The whole lot had been uncharacteristically still as they quickly noticed the presence of their boss. There was no reason that they could give to be anything other than perfect in his presence, for while they were strictly forbidden to kill one another, The boss had no such compunctions about his own behavior. The Ork closest to him flinched, and hazarded a glance to the boss, despretly hoping he wouldn't be the first to make eye contact. "Wuz yer name grunt?" Gruff asked in an almost lazy fashion.

"Oo, me boss?" stammered the monster. He had accidently made eye contact, and had no doubt that he was now the center of Guff's attention. The Ork now had but one goal, and that was to not be kicked.

Guff was a kind Ork, at least he considered himself to be. Instead of kicking the lad, he instead clobbered him in the head with a wrench.

"Yez you!" snarled Tniffguff. He squared up on the smaller ork and towered easily 3 feet above him. Patting the wrench into his hand like a baton, he narrowed his eyes at the still smarting Ork. "Wuz yer name?" It wasn't a question as much as a command. The other boys quickly stepped away from the scene rapidly unfolding. They had no idea what motivated the encounter, but they knew they wanted _nothing_ to do with it.

"Pulpmish" squeaked the smaller Ork. It was a fitting name, and the Ork's face looked to have been pulped by some injury a ways back. The beast was hideous even by Ork standards, and the newly acquired lump on his head did not help.

"Well Pulpmish, 'ow you want to try being a big boz like meh?" Pulpmish looked confused and frightened. There was no good reason for Guff's question, and Pulpmish had always been careful to never challenge any Ork bigger than himself. He was not a leader, and he only ever relished in kicking around a gretchin.

"Wot?" came his reply. That earned Pulpmish another clobbering on the head.

"Listen Maggot!" roared TniffGuff. "Im asking for yer opinion. Use yer head and fink nice in 'ard. We 'ave all dis 'ere wood, and I 'ave bugger all idea wot ta do wiv it. So mistah big brains… wot should I do wiv it?" It wasn't fair for Pulpmish. He had no aspirations to challenge TniffGuff, and he never claimed to be a thinker either.

"Uhhh" Pulp grunted, glancing around in desperate thought. "Youz could make a really big tower?" Pulpmish flinched away from the strike he guessed would be incoming from his boss. A moment passed and none came. He slowly opened one eye and glanced up to the boss as he trembled in fear. TniffGuff made a theatric motion as he pretended to be deep in thought. Placing a hand onto his hip, and another to his chin he hummed out loud. The other boys watching the occasion with a mixture of hope and amusement. Confident that they were not the target of Guff's ire, this was becoming quite the event. Guff's face transformed into a giant smile and he tossed his arm around Pulmish's shoulder.

"We 'ave a smart one 'ere lads" he croaked looking at the other boys gathered around. Turning down at Pulpmish with a grin, he waved his other arm out as if he was envisioning a sight. "I can see it now. We take all dis wood, and make dah biggest towa' dis panet's evah seen. It kin be a sign telling all dah humiez not to mess wiz TniffGuff". Pulpmish looked up hopefully. "I like you Pulpmish, you knows haw ta 'tink big. You kin be Nob fer meh".

"Tanks Boss" came his surprised reaction. This had not turned out how he thought it would.

"Oh wait" growled Tniffguff. "You know dah fing about wood pulpmish?" he made eye contact one last time. Frozen in terror Pulpmish edged away from the iron grasp on his shoulder.

"It burns!"

Tniffguff kicked the terrified Ork into the bonfire in front of them. Landing in the coals and dancing flames, Pulpmish shrieked in agony as his flesh began to pop and burn. The other boys made no move to help their comrade, lest they be forced to join him. Above the shrieks and screams of Pulpmish, Tniffguff roared to present company. "Wot good is wood to us? Wot type ov blasted shite can I make wiv wood? We need metal. _Metal! _Iz shiney, 'ard… _and doesn't burn!" _ Tniffguff let the sounds of the shrieking ork punctuate his speech as he stared down the boys. Every ork in the immediate vicinity grew quite at the sound of their boss hollering and an Ork screaming. As he held their gaze for a moment long, Guff's visage changed, and he stared down at the burning Ork in disgust.

With one hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ragged bundle of dried Tezki leaves, and with the other pulled the immolated Pulpmish from the flames. Calmly placing the cigar in his mouth, he lifted the flailing form to the cigar and took a deep lungful of noxious smoke before stomping the flames out on pulpmish.

"Quit yer moanin'" He growled down the blistered and howling form. "I jez made yuz pretty." Chuckling at his own wit, Guff stopped off, leaving the greenskin behind, and continued to think of new and awful things.


	9. Wings

His was an ancient mind. He understood ideas and concepts beyond the reality of the living, and had survived many trips beyond the veil. A hunted servant of a dying god, the old librarian was a rarity for the human race. He had risen above the life destined for the average man, and strode amongst the gods. So many mortals lusted after the power of the warp, but this man was different. He wore the mantle of responsibility like a chain, a weight around his neck. Knowing full well the horrific price mortal entanglement with the warp carried, The librarian was the first to argue against its use.

That he now sat in his chambers, communing with the warp stood as testament to the importance of his current mission. His chambers were Spartan, a moderately sized empty space within the ship, shaped to accentuate the Librarians powers. The edges of the metal spars and supports were rounded. The result of some odd phenomena, it appeared that the centuries he had spent practicing his arts caused a radiating wave to bend and warp everything within the chamber. The Imperial eagle, once venerated, was a mockery of its former glory, twisted and bubbled as if by a blazing heat. Its mere existence defamed the imperial creed, and was an unforgivable heresy.

Heretic. Many a night had been spent in meditation on that very idea. He and his brothers were heretics. Declared villainous and unforgivable by the Imperium of Man, each carried with them a death sentence. He would face worse than most, for their Heresy would almost certainly fall on his shoulders. The man was supposed to be a wise consoler, and following his conscious, he had only counseled the truth. Yet it had not set them free.

What bothered him most was the accusation that they had abandoned the Emperor. The very notion of which caused him nausea, so great was his devotion. The fools could not, _would not _see that The Infinity Serpent's deviation from the imperial creed was not a denouncement of their beloved father, but the first time the lot of them had truly been in service. They were not the heretics; the entire Imperial system has the heresy. The enslavement and reduction of human life to nothing more than numbers to be spent in an infernal equation was nothing better than the darkness embraced by the followers of chaos, and the fact that his beloved father was heralded as the God of such a system brought tears to his eyes, and rage to his heart.

He had not fallen to Chaos, he was devoted to battling the forces of chaos at every turn. Forsaking his oaths and falling from the grace of his kind was the price they had paid to serve humanity. And yet in the eternal cogs of imperial bureaucracy, His name was listed among the ranks of Abbadon, Ahriman and Horus. It was a sacrifice that he made, and a burden he wore willingly, but longed to be free of.

The infinity Serpents, once separated from the Imperium, were free to dictate their own course. They used that freedom to advance the cause of humanity as best they understood, and The Librarian secretly feared that they may have engaged in a fatal mistake. Yet the dice was cast, and all they could do now was pursue that path with dignity and honor. Even still there was the ever present stain on their chapter, those who had gone beyond the pale, and taken the steps away from their father and into the eternal darkness of the old gods. Scippio.

In that moment however, such memories were but a figment that dance around his head, ready to be called upon, but blessedly forgotten. The old man was neither alive nor dead, His body an anchor in the world of the living, and the echo of his soul projected into the warp.

Within his sanctum two servants sat in the corner, ready to attend to their beloved master should he require their assistance. Uniquely characterized amongst rebellious chapters, the infinity serpents did not keep slaves, nor did they inherently devalue the lives of those less powerful than them. Burdened with the mantle of service, and devoted to the value of human life, The Serpents took on those humans willing to risk their lives in the chapter's pursuit of hope. These two were men in their late 50's, part of the caste of humans who lived in the underbelly of the ship. They had continued in service of the family lines, and replaced their father as the hands of the Librarian. They also possessed sons who would one day replace them, for the average human life was pathetically limited next to the lifespan of a Space Marine. Ahern and Goilam were their names, and they were masterful stewards for the old man.

Ahern dipped his paint brush into the brilliant blue ink, and added another touch to the paper before him. Both men were often left with little to do when the Old Librarian communed, and having served long enough that the eerie chill of the warp no longer bothered them, they took to practicing arts of their own. It pleased the old man to see the creations of his stewards, and he encouraged their practice in all their affairs. Goilam was an accomplished woodcarver, and had given life to many a form in his decades of service. Most of the steward's creations found their way down the town below, either to be sold, bartered for, or given away, yet both men had offered the best of their creations to their Masters in gratitude for the protection and purpose the Infinity Serpents gave their lives. A single headed eagle, carved of a precious wood sat upon the dais near the Librarians meditations, a reminder of what the God Emperor was, and not the blasphemous monstrosity the Imperium had turned him into. The Librarian did not know why, but his meditations did not because the same destructive effect on the wooden eagle as it did on the metallic one. He suspected it was some sort of omen, but could not be sure.

At the faint sound of discomfort escaping from the old man's mouth, both stewards immediately leapt to their feet, their art taking instant subservience to the care of their master. Before them the Librarian set in his throne, The psychic hood of his armor amplified by the ancient technology. A pale green light radiated from his form, illuminating everything it touched to an eerier hue. The Stewards knew better than to interfere with the old man, for it was their lives at stake. Anytime a mortal interferes with the warp, its soul shines like a beacon in the darkness for the malicious entities within. Where the Infinity Serpent had become adept at battling such intrusions and attacks, the slightest touch from his stewards would open their souls up to the same assaults. It would be with a heavy heart then that the Librarian would be forced to extinguish their lives before a demonic incursion took place.

Instead they watched, ready to leap to assist him as soon as the infernal chill left the room. This part was terrifying for them even with their decades of experience dancing near the edges of oblivion. For even a masterful acrobat is affected by the laws of gravity. There was a hissing sound that seemed to grow from the silence, and came at the men from every direction. As it grew to louder and louder pitches, The Librarians eyes began to open. Where they usually saw the warmth of his soul, and burden his heart seemed to carry, They were instead greeted with two blazing orbs of golden light. Blinded by the ethereal light, they flinched back from his gaze, and were bathed with a brilliance golden warmth. The old man began to yell.

"Come with me!" he shouted into the room. "Now Kermila! Run!"

This had never happened before. Ahern turned to Goilam. "Go and get the master!" he managed to command, fear poisoning his voice. He did not know what was happening, but he had never seen anything like this. If there was even a chance that the Librarian could be overwhelmed by a daemon… The thought was too horrifying to contemplate. As Goilam rushed from the room, It took all of Ahern's strength to keep himself from doing the same. He was the steward, and he would not flinch from his duty. This did not however do much to calm his fears. If anything besides the Old man came out of that throne, Ahern would be the first to die.

"You won't have this one abomination! Turn! He commands it!" The yelling became louder and soon the room was completely engulfed in the golden brilliance. Feeling the terrible heat emanating from the old man, Ahern dropped to his knees and began to pray. It felt as it wave after wave of pure energy radiated out from the librarian, each one striking his skin, and peeling away another layer. Horrified he looked down but saw nothing out of place, yet somehow the psychic hood, amplified by the throne was doing nothing to muffle the sheer psychic power flooding out before him. The pain was barley manageable as he knelt his vigil. Ahern knew how much the Old man had sacrifice for the people of the ship, much less the entirety of his race, and Ahern would be damned before he would abandon his master now. The yelling intensified, and soon the old man began to yell in a tongue he had never heard before.

Ahern opened his eyes, and was immediately met with the stinging force of energy pushing against his form. He blinked several times, his tears feeling as if they were boiling away before he suddenly made sense of what he saw before him. The old man was floating in the air now, shaking and writhing as ropes of brilliant light snaked around his form. Ahern's mouth dropped at the sight. Suddenly the ropes of light converged around and onto the Librarian's back, causing him to arch backwards in apparent pain. The sound of his yelling mutated into the sound of a deep string instrument. The bass note vibrated through the room, causing loose objects on the shelves to tremble and fall to the ground. The sound was deafening, and Ahern covered his ears to protect himself from the thundering cacophony. He let out a scream of his own as feared the sound would shake him apart.

There was a sudden rush as a shift caused all of the air and power in the room to go flying back towards the Librarian. Loose papers, wood shavings, and any other uncovered object was lifted up and thrown through the center of the room to the Librarian. The massive gust of air threatened to knock Ahern over as his hair and loose clothes were sucked towards the librarian, blown by an air that wasn't there. He stared in amazement as the golden light seemed to arch back towards its source, before coalescing to the Librarians back. It was suddenly still in the room, and paper floated to the ground like leaves in the wind. Ahern took a deep breath and began to stand to his feet.

He only had it halfway up before an explosion of power erupted from the Librarian, catching the loose material still in the air and slamming it to the wall. Ahern was knocked to his back. Eyes dancing from ceiling to the Librarian, he saw the Old man floating calmly in the middle of the room, with two wings of Golden majesty extending from his back. Ahern's eyes grew wide as he slowly sat up. The old man floated to the ground and came to a stop at Ahern's feet. Speechless, Ahern searched his face, terrified at what he might discover. Two friendly eyes found their way to his gaze as the ancient Space marine towered over his steward.

"Well done to both of my faithful servants," came his voice as the Librarian leaned forward and offered his hand to Ahern. "Come, we have the Emperor's work to do."


	10. The Golden Chain

Illo jerked forward, eyes larger than they had ever been. Blankets flew from her childish form as she sat upright in her bed. Her heart was pounding, and she didn't know why. Something _felt _dramatically wrong with reality, and yet she could not place a hint of an explanation to what had occurred. She was terrified and in awe at the same time. Her heart beat with urgency, and adrenaline flooded into her system. She desperately tried to remember what she had dreamed of, yet it painfully danced on the edge of her memory. It was infuriating as she wracked her brain looking for answers. Feeling the full physiological effects of the dream, yet lacking the knowledge of what she had just felt was terrible for her. She felt as if she had simply forgotten everything in the middle of a fight, and the juxtaposition of nothingness and physical experience was maddening.

She took a moment to focus her mind. Illo knew where she was at, she was in their home. Her parents were right next door. There were no monsters under her bed. _What had she dreamed of?_ The immediate rush of chemicals to her brain gave way to shaking as she came down from the high of her bodies fight-based cocktails. It was so real, yet there was literally nothing in her mind to explain her current state.

She leaned her body forward and slowly panted in frustration. As she shifted her weight, a bead of sweat ran down her face. Feeling the drop run to her eye, she blinked trying to clear the stinging drop from her eyes. Failing at that she lifter her right hand to her face to rub it away and-

Illo let out a horrific shriek. Her right hand was wrong! Where she expected to see her hand, the one she had known all her life, that intimate part of her being, there was instead a golden mark upon her palm. _The skin was golden. _It covered an area the size of an egg and had uneven borders which almost looked to be painted on. A symbol she had never seen before adorned the center of the golden splotch made from glowing white light. Panic took to her already heightened state and she screamed once more. Slamming her marked hand against the wooden bed frame, she tried to wipe it off. Expecting to see a golden stain left on the wood, her stomach dropped when the wood was left unmarked. Flipping her hand over sent a new wave of panic. She reached for the nearest object she could see, a stiff hair brush and began to desperately scrub her own skin. The panic had her tightly in its fingers. She felt real pain in her afflicted hand as she tried with all her might to tear the golden stain from its place. Her panicked breathing started to give way to sobs as her ragged skin began to split and bleed. She was incapable of calming herself, and she let lose another scream of terror.

The skin around the mark was torn to shreds by her adrenaline fueled actions, but the mark itself was unmolested. The sight of blood added a whole new, and terrible zeal to her actions as her ability to reason was overwhelmed by pure instinctive action. The mark _had _to come off. It wasn't supposed to be there… This wasn't right! _Why wouldn't it come off?_

Hearing the sound of her parents running to her aide, She turned to look to the door. Her parents rounded the corner and were met with a memory which would be forever burned into their souls. Their Daughter sat in her bed, Golden tears dripping from her face, screaming with angelic beauty. She looked to them and held up a bloody hand, a golden crest shining in the middle of the ragged mess.

The worst part was _that this was not a dream._


	11. Ap'cho

_You are impossibly old_, was the only thought that ran through Nula's mind. She sat at the dinning room table with her father, the chief scout, and the 6 elders of their village, and while she understood, and even respected the importance of the current conversation, her childlike mind was finding it incredibly difficult to pay attention to the conversation. She had already lived the events they were now discussing, and having already shared her story, there was surprisingly little for her to contribute. She felt a pressing obligation to stay and be present, yet she was finding it easier and easier to get lost in her thoughts. The adults at the table had listened in rapt attention to her tale, and that had left her feeling all sorts of proud, and more than just a little self-conscious.

Now that they were discussing what to do about the events of the day, Nula found herself staring at Endell Mishkof, The oldest of the three female leaders. The best part of course was that none of them noticed her blatant staring. They were so wrapped up in their conversation, which grew more and more heated by the minute, that the gaze of a child went completely unnoticed. Nula bore a hole in the side of her head with her eyes as she studied the features on the elders face. _How does skin get so wrinkly?_ She wondered following the creases in the old woman's face. _Togoff me, am I going to look like that some day?_ She blanched at the idea. Such a concept was for the time beyond anything she could consider. While she understood that idea that Old Mishkof had once been a child herself, it just seemed impossible that Nula would ever be _that _old. _Perhaps Old Mishkof was made when the emperor made mankind? _ Nula smiled at her own joke.

She felt a solid thump against her leg and looked up in surprise at her father's disapproving glance. It appeared that her staring and smiling had not gone unnoticed after all. She set her face serious and redoubled her efforts at paying attention. She knew she didn't want to embarrass her father, and the mature side of her knew that they were talking about important things.

" We have known that the Orks would make it to our village eventually" Djoor insisted to the table of elders. "I can't see how this could be of surprise to any of us". It surprised Nula to see several of the elders scowl in disapproval of Djoor. How they could be annoyed at his honest appraisal of the truth was beyond her. After all, the whole reason she had been out that night was for just such an occasion.

A haggard voice cracked a reply. "In theory my boy, The Orks should never have found our home". The old man's face was draw into a tight frown, as he chewed on the end of a pipe. The smoke poured out of his mouth and through his comically large moustache as he spoke, and danced spirals through the frigid midnight air. It left a sweet aroma in the air, with a hint of Tezki bark to give it a heart smell. The smoke had quickly filled the air, as the black sheet which covered their table and hid their light form the outside world also captured the smoke.

The head of the Scouts broke his silence as he shook his head in disagreement. "With all respect Elder Finb'lo, There was no way we could hold this ruse forever. The girl said she saw a light flash from our village. It was only a matter of time until somebody made a mistake." He turned to look at her and nodded approval. "That young woman may have saved our people this night by killing the Ork scout."

Elder Mishkof let out a low grumble before responding, "That is unless there was more than one scout."

"Or if the Orks notice that the scout doesn't come back" snapped the pipe smoker.

Nula felt a flash of anger as her passion took hold of her. "Should I have left him alive and ready to report back to the other Kinfilk?" she snapped. Using such profanity cost her in the duel of political gamesmanship as two of the older women gasped. There was another kick under the table from her father as he kept his eyes fixed directly on the elders.

"Of course not Nula" came the response from the chief scout. His hurried response gave witness to his own frustration with the few stubborn elders sitting at the table. Not all of the six were unreasonable by any means, but those who had their opinions wasted no time in sharing them…repeatedly, while the more reserved and prone to contemplative reasoning kept to themselves. The effect was such that Nula felt persecuted by an outspoken minority, even though an underlying awe and respect for her courage was obvious to the more solcially aware of the group.

Djoor was respected in the community, and many of the other villagers felt that he would one day take up the mantle of Elder when the time was right. This gave his opinion weight in all the communal affairs, and lent a fair amount of credibility to Nula by association as well. That social inheritance was not squandered as the young girl quickly developed a reputation for honesty and integrity. It caused considerable less pride in Djoor that she was also known for her salty language, though he knew that even that was his fault. Spending her days at the quarry visiting her father whenever she could, Nula quickly picked up the parlance of the grizzled and brutish men. The first time she had used the term "Ap'cho" in class was also the first time Nulas teacher had seen a grown man turn bright red with embarrassment when she had relayed the story to Djoor. That had earned the teacher free repair work around her carved domicile as a way to make amends for Nula's less than lady like vernacular.

In short however, the assembled company had taken her story in stride with few hesitations. She had diplomatically let out the parts about time slowing down, as Djoor had instructed her to do. As far as the Elders were concerned, The Chief scouts vouching for Nula's acrobatic prowess was enough to explain how such a young girl had slain one of the dreaded greenskins. "I think that her quick thinking, fast reflexes, and a healthy dose of luck can more than account for her claims" he had assured the group. In that moment she had seen something odd in her father's eyes, which disappeared as soon as the Elders showed signs of beliving her story.

However their family heirloom had not escaped the scrutiny of the more prying Elders. It was a common understanding amongst the villagers that Nula's family had a spectacularly well-made knife as a family possession, and frankly it was not uncommon for families to own objects for multiple generations. The Bliksons for example owned a set sheers which seemed to derive their power from the sun, and had earned them many favor in trade for their ability to trim hair efficiently. The Oojialik's boasted a quill pen which they assured over the course of several minutes anyone who was foolish enough to ask, that it had been made from the first bird hunted on this planet. Thus it was not outside the realm of possibility that Nula was now in possession of the Family heirloom. That did not however stop the condemnation from several of the elders.

Fin'blo leaned forward across the table to give Nula a closer look. The ragged gash left of her eye gave a certain weight to her words as well as her broken ribs. "I cant fathom how you rationalized giving such a blade to someone so young. My own son would have killed himself with that knife when he was her age." Another deep breath caused the bowl of him pipe to glow as the deep seated embers flamed to life. Nula noticed that he seemed to be inhaling the smoke, instead of just tasting it. She wasn't sure what that meant.

Djoor sighed and turned to meet the old man's eyes. "I'm sure you remember that day when I nearly cut my food off Elder. There is no doubt that what she holds is dangerous, I don't deny that-" He was cut off by Elder Mishkof.

"Then you should hand the blade over to someone more capable of handling it Nula" she replied with more life than Nula previously expected. "I believe that the knife caused Nula to unnecessarily risk her life. If she hadn't had the blade-" It was Nula's turn to cut the old woman's remarks short.

"Do you think I would still be here?" She drew the knife from its sheath and held it for all to see. "I still would have jumped that Ork. I still would have tried to stop it from sharing our village's location." She looked to Elder Fin'blo. "Sir, you are right, our village shouldn't have to be discovered. I have read about what those _Ap'cho filth _do. If they find us, they will kill us. It's that simple!" Her eyes snapped over to Mishkof and she activated the blade. The slight orange glow of the room was shattered as blue light crackled and danced across the table and illuminated their faces.

"This blade saved my life. I've never seen a creature the size of that Ork, and its strength was unreal. If I hadn't had such a blade, his scouts-" She gestured to the chief scout "would be finding my wrecked body in the Eternal Forrest right about now, and not that Greenskin Treshk. But by all means, let me hand my families blade over to someone else. Clearly I lack the maturity, and responsibility, and capability to handle it. It's not like I just stopped an Ork scout from giving away our village!" She deactivated the blue light, and flipped the knife in her hands, catching the unshielded blade in her fingers. She theatrically offered the handle to the company seated around the table, challenging them with her gaze.

Her father placed his hand upon her shoulder, and took the offered blade before one of the Elders rose to her challenge. The room was silent for several seconds before one of the other women spoke up. As to this moment Elder Oontila had only once spoke, and had asked Nula to clarify several details of the encounter. She lifted the cup of Tezki tea from her lap and took a long sip before continuing.

"Nula, you feel as if we are unfairly attacking you. Djoor, you are concerned that we are not respecting your only child. I understand your concern. However you must see it from our perspective as well." A sharp thump from her father silenced Nula before she could offer a sarcastic reply. Oontila met Nula's fiery glare with confidence. It was almost unnerving to the young girl. "You are still a child Nula, albeit an exceptional one. You know full well that I speak from experience as an active participant in our school that I have seen your development your whole life. I have always been impressed with you, and it doesn't not surprise me for a second that you came to the conclusion to risk your life for our people. We at this table all recognize and respect your character, even if some of us lack the tack and diplomacy to express that." Fin'blo and Mishkof both scowled at the slight rebuke. "However Nula, your character is not in question. We are all scared at the greenskin threat, and we have no plan, nor ability to defend against it. You are still a child." Her words were delivered with sincerity, and were meant to deflate Nula's aggressive stance. "And as a child you are prone to the follies of youth, and mistakes born of inexperience. That is what is meant by our concerns."

The room was quite for a while. Nula's outspoken critics had been soothed as Nula seemed to have been put in her place, while Nula and Djoor digested the exceptional compliments given. Several moments passed until a fourth voice spoke up. Elder Coin'pa lifted his reading monocle to his good eye and starred at Nula. Old and ornery, the Elder was once the chief of the hunters, and had the scars and the temperament to prove that he had bested every wild beast found on their planet. Deep and full of character, his voice broke the silence.

"I suggest that wee remedy that problem Oontila." He shifted his solemn gaze to the chief of scouts. "I suggest you train the girl." Nula's heart began to beat at that suggestion. Half out of her own fear at facing the greenskins once more, and half out of excitement at the honor being cast before her.

"But I am too young to join a workers clan" she said, awe written across her face.

"And these are exceptional times little one. Oontilla is right, you are an exceptional young woman." His eyebrows furled. "But she is right as well, you are too young to be trusted in your judgment." He shrugged and look from one face to the other. "It seems to me that we can solve this problem best by teaching her. And since she has shown herself to be quite adept in thought, motivation, and skill, I see no reason why we shouldn't give her the chance to hone herself into a scout. Djoor, what are your thoughts?"

Nulas eyes snapped to her father. It took all of her effort to maintain a visage of calm as she tried to read his face. Djoor leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. This was not what he wanted for his girl. In times of peace perhaps he would have been thrilled at the honor suggested by Coin'pa. However such an honor had the direct effect of placing Nula in harm's way. That his fears had been made real by her encounter with the greenskin did not sooth him in any way. Still, his sense of duty both to his people, and to his daughter had not changed. Why he had even taken the time to consider his answer was beyond him. He had known as soon as the old hunter started to speak what his reply was.

" Of course." Djoor stood from the table and turned to look at the Chief Scout.

"Take care of my little girl".


	12. Mirror

The Crawl had finally given birth to a new horror. Like a broken scab, the dulled fear of oblivion represented below their home had cracked and revealed something wholly raw and new and terrible to behold. The cancerous spread of destruction had slowed to a near stop giving some hope. It wasn't long however before white plumes of smoke began pumping into the sky from a singular spot. Being tens of miles away the smoke still managed to cut through the hazy air which seeped from the crawl. Smoke was not a new thing to Nula's people, whatever Orkish machinations had been hidden by the enormous distance from the mountain, they still gave off plenty of smoke. This was entirely different however. Where hundreds of individual fires, ones used for living, coalesced into the air above the crawl, giving the ever expanding sky a greasy haze, this new smoke was the sign of a fire unlike anything the people had ever seen. The sweet smell of burning Tezki sap had become a companion to their day to day lives, and a whole new round of speculation had in turn given birth to new and terrible fears.

The smoke column had burned for over two weeks now, and there was no sign that it was going to stop. Visibility was beginning to fade after a certain distance, so thick was the smoke. Meeting after meeting was called, and each in turn ended in nothing more than a stalemate. Half the people believed it to be evidence of hope. Maybe the halt of the crawl, and burning of the wood signaled a new direction for the Orks, a new objective. Had they found what they were looking for? Others still were only brought to new levels of fear by the change in behavior. What, they asked, were the Orks looking for, and what did it mean if they found it? Others still turned to the supernatural, and pondered out loud what fiendish machinations of magic or sorcery could the Orks possibly be up to. One even had suggested that the fire was evidence of an opening to the Orks hellish world, from which new beasts would pour out and drown their home. This was of course scoffed at by many, but the imagery of such a thought had not failed to poison Nula's dreams even further.

The fact of the matter was that Nula had not been sleeping well as the days passed. Working and training hard during the day, her trips to the land of the sleeping were constantly marred by horrific visions of assault and murder. Dreams of Orks plagued her sleep, while the underlying fear of her magical experience did wonders to increase the potency. Remembering the horrible feeling of slicing the Ork in slow motion, it was not long before her brain accomplished a whole new level of treachery and condemned her to dreams of her own death at the hands of an orkish blade, often in slow motion. Many a night had been spent in the arms of her father, quietly suffering the horrors of her act of heroism. Had it not been for his wisdom in counsel, and the support of her friends, there would be little she could do to stand against the torrent of fear.

As difficult as her training was, it tended to be the best part of her life. She had been placed under the care of Amnic Deoonja, a promising scout, and a lifelong friend. Amnic was easily twice her age, closer to the end of his third decade than to its start, and took pleasure in reminding her of her youth. "I remember holding you as a baby Nula" he often told her to punctuate a rebuke, "Please remember that I have just abit more experience at this than you." He did a good job of balancing her ego against her fear, constantly reminding her of her place, while still encouraging her growth. In fairness however, the job had come easy to him, as Amnic had for all intents and purposes been raised by Djoor. Her father's wisdom and tact had rubbed off on the young man, and Amnic saw Nula as a little sibling. It had taken Djoor's face to face permission to convince Amnic to treat Nula's appointment seriously, and only a direct command to "treat her as any other kinflik trainee" had persuaded Amnic not to give her special treatment. While he was on the small side, Amnic was considered by many to be just as imposing as any hunter. This newly assured fairness put Nula in an odd position as the man who was once like brother quickly assumed instead the role of her leader. She was not pleased to see that Amnic had mastered her father's scowl.

The mistress of luck had not stopped there however. A woman whom many oft assumed was Nula's sister had also been put under Amnic's command. Mila Annoda was without doubt Nula's best friend. While Nula had just entered into her teens, Mila was less than half a cycle from completing her second decade in age. Dark of skin, light on her feet and of a exceptional intelligence, few in the village rivaled Mila's ability to survive and thrive at night. Where to many the night stood as a curse and the mother of all things terrible, Mila was renowned for her love of the darkness. Quite and contemplative, she had taken Nula under her wings as a young girl, and stood as a firm contrast to the young woman in almost every aspect. This had never dampened their love for one another, and Nula had been besides herself with glee upon discovering that she would be assigned to learn from her older friend.

While those two were blessings upon her life, she had little complaint about the other squad mates. They were boys of varying ages from her village, three young men, each failing to live up to the maturity and prowess of Amnic and Mila. However they were loyal, and knew how to follow directions. The eldest was one of the survivors of the original Ork attacks, and had changed in demeanor. The last remnants of his youth had been obliterated by the violence, and it left him quite and withdrawn. The two other men were brothers, each was only a few years younger than Amnic, and the three of them had a distantly fond relationship since she was born.

The group as a whole had been varied in their response to Nula. Several didn't seem to care, such as the brothers, contented it seemed in Amnic's endorsement. To no one's surprise the quieter boy didn't say much, but seemed uncomfortable with her presence. Nula couldn't help but wonder if his doubts were bread in by his recent encounter with the Orks. She was quick to rebuke her own leanings to superiority, as the poor lad hadn't been aided by magic. Doubt quickly replaced her confidence as she began to think that the fact that he was still alive spoke to his own qualifying experience.

The real conflict had been between Amnic and Mila to Nula's great surprise. The memory of the encounter was still raw, and left Nula unsure of her own place in the group. Amnic and Nula had traveled for several hours by foot in order to meet the group in the eternal forest. Their conversation was simple and familial. The walk had allowed Aminc a chance to lay down his authority in the non-formal tone needed to navigate Nula's temper. Using careful placed words he established his expectations in such a way that left no room for doubt. In the field he was not her brother, nor her friend. It was simple and polite… It was his rules.

Nula accepted the claim with grace, and found his expectations reasonable. That he had danced masterfully through her defenses and asserted himself without angering her was lost on the little girl. To her Amnic just made sense. She was deep in thought when they approached the clearing, and her eyes had grown to massive sizes when she realized what Mila's presence meant. However her excitement had been cut short as Mila's face had reacted upon making eye contact. A flinch back from the sight of Nula was followed immediately by an accusatory glare to Amnic. The man walked into the clearing and into a beam of sunlight. His short cropped brown hair glowed in the beam of light as he confidently met Mila's silent accusation.

"Amnic," she barked placing her hand on her hips. "What is she doing here?" Nula was taken aback with the frigid reception. Hurt flooded her veins and drew her brows into a confused scowl.

"This Mila, is our new recruit". Amnic leaned into the side of an ancient tree, and crossed his arms. It appeared that he had expected such a reaction. Mila's eyes grew tighter as she took a step to the casual form in front of her.

"What?" she nearly yelled. Amnic fixed his eyes on his second in command.

"You heard me." His reply was given calmly and directly. There was no hint of an apology as he offered the facts of the situation to the agitated woman. That he was choosing to meet her head on did not help her reaction. Being a person who was known for her calm demeanor, The fact that she was so worked up was surprising to everyone, and it seemed as if she had expected a much more ashamed reaction to her rarely given outburst.

Mila's eyes grew wide as her explosion of anger seemingly evaporated. Placing a hand over her mouth, she stared away from his face. The air in the clearing grew deathly still as every eye fixed onto the older women. People simply did not challenge Amnic. He was no child, and his calm reaction to her outburst was almost as unnerving as her initial reaction. Several moments passed, and Mila closed her eyes. Hangs hanging at her side she turned to face the both Nula and Amnic.

"She's a child." Came Mila's terse reply.

"Hey!" Nula started, feeling a flash of anger and betrayal. Mila was a friend. Her outburst was surprising most of all to the young girl, whose angry response was a mere blanket used to cover the blow dealt by Mila's reaction. Pain crossed over Mila's face as she looked Nula in the eyes.

"You are a child."

"I killed an Ork Mila", Pleaded Nula. Why was this a problem? Mila was the first person Nula had told. Ever the night owl, Mila had appeared at the family door as soon as the elder's had. Being patient the woman waited until the elder's conference had ended, and simply slipped into the house as the last visitor left. Djoor was used to her sudden appearance, and said nothing more than a smile as he pointed Mila to Nula's room. This was of course a blessing for Nula, and she had spent the rest of the night sharing every detail of the encounter. Mila had even supported her advancement to the scouts. Mila had even reacted calmly to her claim of magic. Why was this a problem? "You knew I was coming!" reaching for words, and looking into Mila's eyes she spoke harshly, emotion poisoning her tone.

"I didn't know you'd be coming with us Nula." Nula stammered a response before Mila cut her off. "Have you been to the Crawl? Have you seen what we are going against? We aren't going to see just one Ork. We aren't going to be on the defense Nula-"

"I know that!" came the younger girl's interruption.

"No Nula, you don't!" Mila did not yell her response, but it was delivered with a harsh finality. "You did something amazing, and something heroic. You should be a scout; you have the stuff for it."

"So then what's the problem?" Nula begged, all the anger drained form her voice.

"Children shouldn't have to die for all this." Mila looked Amnic in the eye. "If we take her, we are killing our little sister".

A pang of guilt shot through Nula. It was odd that it was guilt which coursed into her veins, and not fear. Being young, and having recently survived direct combat with an Ork, she had an irrational sense of invulnerability, a feeling as if she were a character in one of the stories she read. She even possessed a sense of cosmic purpose, as if fate would leave her protected from all harm. This had added frustration to her night terrors. Instead she was ashamed at her anger. Clearly Mila meant no disrespect.

Amnic met Mila's gave with unwavering purpose. "Doesn't she have a right to live for 'all this'" ? Mila's gaze didn't change, she did not flinch back from his stare, nor did she comment. "She is a child. Yes. And the greenskins did not care. In the last two weeks we've lost contact with Elder Smilo's village, with the Tershin in the Frozen leaf Grove, and my Krill from the Charred Caves. The smoke column has appeared, and Nula killed a greenskin scout." He took a deep breath. "That's three of our immediate trading partners silenced, and the threat is no more than a day's journey that way". His hand punctuated the comment with a stiff finger into the cool morning air. "Like it or not, those Ap'cho filth are out there, and they are coming closer. This child is already under threat. If we don't do our job, this child will die for '_all this'_. This child will die along with every other child in our village."

Nula was stunned to see a mutual tear flow down both Mila and Amnic's cheek, mirroring on the same sides. Mila took a deep breath and closed her eyes, looking up into the morning sunbeam. The ray gave a rich color to her dark skin, and the wet path left by the tear glinted and sparkled. To Nula's surprise it was Mila who spoke next Reciting the scout's motto.

"May she die in the forest" came her whispered surrender.

The whole company of people responded in unison. "And may her soul dance in the Emperors light".


	13. The Death of a Family

_Authors note: Sorry for the recent delay in getting chapters out, a mixture of emergency household repairs, a minor writers block, and visiting family made for a hectic writing schedule. The following chapter is long, and it was difficult for me to write, because it's a bit dark. I don't like writing awful things for the sake of being horrible or cruel, however I do believe in being honest to the subject material, and while Orks are often a subject of humor for the 40k universe, the truth is that an Ork raid would be a terrible thing to behold for its victims. The following explores just that. I hope to have accurately expressed the horror and graphic nature of an Ork raid without being overtly gratuitous. _

There was an explosion of gore and viscera as a stream of Orkish projectiles shredded one of the pathetic humans. A satisfied smirk grew onto the Ork's massive face as he watched ropes of flesh and blood drip off the wall of the nearby building. His gun was working well, and that made Tniffguff happy. It was a shoota of massive design with three rotating barrels. Weighing in at over 100 pounds, Tniffguff had a hauler-squig bread for just the occasion to carry the ammo for the massive gun. The four legged beast was immensely strong, immensely obedient, and immensely stupid. He called it Furp. Carrying several thousand rounds of ammo on Furp's back, a dispenser gave out a belt of ammo which fed directly into Guff's prized possession. This left the Big Mek's back free to carry other important things, like his combination wrench/axe, or`his bag of tools foreign in their design and ubsurd to all minds but his own.

He also planned to build some sort of shield device, if only he could find a crystal of the right resonance and design. Of course such words and terms were lost on the green brute, he simply knew that he needed a shiny rock, and he would know it when he saw it. Such distractions however were quickly drowned out by the cacophony of his kustom-shoota. Seeing another fleeing pink-skin run from the burning house, he leveled the massive gun and squeezed the firing mechanism. The barrels took several seconds to spool up and required him to rev the guns engine before he could count on it firing jam free. A belch of black smoke signaled the gun's firing state, and he let loose another stream of projectiles into the fleeing form. Another explosion of flesh signaled his success and he let loose a cruel laugh. This village would be as easily ransacked as the other ones.

Tniffguff had taken upon himself a new Title: WoodBurna. Feeling an natural affinity to fire, and appreciating the way it consumed and destroyed in order to grown stronger, He had decided that an appropriate level of hatred for the pathetic and spindly material known as wood could be expressed with his new honorific. Now the leader of a band over several thousand strong, he had already beaten several lesser bosses to death, and used one as a still living torch to start the blaze in honor of his Orkish Gods.

The weakling's shrill screams of agony as his muscle tissues took wick was a perfect honor to Orkish tradition and culture. The lesser beast was made subservient to the stronger one, and was forced to carry out the stronger beasts will. That Tniffguff's will was to use the weaker boss as a living fireball was merely an unfortunate happenstance for the lesser beast. The real lack of luck was built into its Orkish physiology. That it possessed such a resilient biology meant that it served its purpose of ceremonial torch for quite a bit longer than most beings would be capable of. As far as Tniffguff was concerned the weakling should have been proud to do his religious duty. Oh well, 'E wuz a pathedik won.

Tniffguff had also discovered a new interest in his life, aside from the desire to build things, and set things of fire. On the night of the massive blaze, as the Ork camp was taken by a wave of primal furor, The band's psychic weirdboy had been taken into a ferocious trance. As several thousand Orks had unleashed a unified Waaagh into the dark sky, a beam of green light had descended from the hazy night, and engulfed him in pure psychic energy. Opening his mouth, the Weirdboy had spoken with a thousand Orky voices, and charged Tniffguff with the command to…fly? It had been a shock, but as quickly as he had heard the prophetic commands born of the gestalt group consciousness, the idea had taken root into his brain, and once planted, his chaotic imagination quickly grew it into a wickedly brilliant driving force. Still it remained that if he were to make good on the plans, they were going to need more metal.

Several raids had since passed, and each had provided the Orks with more and more raw materials. Tniffguff's Mek assistants were hard at work pumping out dakka. They were now able to field a whole company of boys armed with shootas. Metal was still precious to the lads, and It had been a stroke of genius on one of his lesser mek's parts to use the stone in the earth as projectiles. There was a simple brilliance to the design that made Tniffguff proud of the little runt. The stone was prone to shattering when the homemade explosive powder was ignited, and the net effect was to send a sizable chunk of stone ripping through the air with relative accuracy, and well as several smaller shards exploding out from behind It in random directions. This natural combination of scattergun and assault rifle left permanent grins on the faces of all the lads who had the privilege to fire the crude weapons. The simple brutality and elegance of the design was so great that Tniffguff was decided to keep the lesser Mek around. He had even rewarded the scrawny engineer with a Tniffguff special made powerklaw. The lesser Mek had no inkling of how close he had come to receiving the other Tniffguff special; Hostile procurement of the title of inventor of said technology and removal of its real inventor as fuel for the workshops furnace. Living fuel of course. He held credit for serval engineering feats procured in just such a fashion.

-111111-

It was a nightmare scenario for any parent. Hordes of greenskins had simply appeared at the edge of their village, and the old metallic walls had done little to hold the waves of hatful monsters out. It was still shocking for BIlko as the image of a veritable wave of green flesh pouring over his beloved walls was seared into his mind's eye. He was still unsure of how they had scaled such a thing as the Krill! Their village had survived multiple generations of inter village conflict and bandit raids, and the people of his town had grown confident in its protection. Meters thick of reinforced steel and ceramic sheeting towered 50-60 feet into the air, and offered a massive bulwark designed by imperial engineers to stand against full-scale attacks from invading armies.

After several hundred years without imperial contact, the military outpost known as the Krill had been abandoned for official usage by the high city of Almendril, and Bilko's people had quickly settled the abandoned structures and made them a home of their own. In all the Krill had been a blessing from the emperor himself, and had left his people as a force to be reckoned with economicly. Safe from literally all threats they had grown prosperous as the entirety of their efforts were now focused on farming and harvesting resources. They had even put the industrial drills to use within the miniature city, and young men were oft known to prove their mettle harvesting raw materials from under the earth. In all, The Krill was an ideal frontier town on a colonial wilderness.

This had also left it as an ideal target for the hungry expansion of Tniffguffs blaze. A mere week earlier the Massive greenskin had brazenly walked up to their front gates, and demanded their surrender. His words had been punctuated by the overnight arrival of a massive host in his wake. The opening of the gates was demanded, and when he went unanswered, a foul sneer had shown evidence of his wicked intentions.

How they had breached the walls was still unknown to Bilko. It had seemed as if they had tunneled up right through the massive structure, like a Ground Tursh in the field to the east. That simply had to be impossible, yet the howling tide of wicked terror running rampant in his beloved home was proof enough that some sort of infamous miracle had taken place. He supposed a miracle from an Orkish god was the foulest of damnation from any other.

"Bilko, what do we do?" It was his younger brother, Ishmi. Emperor bless the young man, Instead of rushing to meet the attacking monsters head on, he had respected Bilko's request, and had run strait to the house to protect the family. With the Krill fallen, that was all they could do now: get the women and children to safety. If they could just get them to the mining tunnels, He had no doubt that Ishmi could lead them from there to the Eternal Forest. Ishmi was a good hunter, and Bilko knew he could count in his little brother to protect his charges. They just had to get free of the immediate danger…

"Ishmi, gather everyone up, and on my mark, you lead them to the tunnels, and you don't stop for anything." He grabbed his brothers shoulder and pulled him in close, placing his mouth to the younger man's ear. "Don't stop for anything. If we get attacked, if they get ahold of anyone, you leave them behind. If you stop, they all die. Better to lose some, then the whole group." Ishmi pulled away and looked to the cowering group of children. By no means the entirety of the city's population, this was merely the best they could do. It was a blessing the Bilko's wife was a teacher, as that put Bilko, Master of the hunters, in close proximity of exactly whom he would want to protect, should the unthinkable happen. Now that it was happening…

Bilko turned his face to beloved wife. Indra was a treasure, and a hero. She stood amongst the children and softly sang to them. Her melodious tones kept them occupied, and seemed to drown out the gun fire and screams that filled the air all around them. Not wishing to interrupt her precious tones, he instead made eye contact with her, and mouthed the words "I love you". A single tear ran down her cheek as she nodded, her voice breaking for only a second. Finally he turned to see his daughter Illo. Bilko did not understand many things in his world, and the horrific miracle she had lived through was beyond his imagination, much less his understanding. Yet still he felt the cool hands of fate upon her life, and he knew it was his duty to get her out alive.

He called her to himself and smiled kneeling before the little girl. She immediately latched onto his chest in fear.

"Daddy, I'm scared!" she whispered. He smiled and looked down into her eyes. Using every ounce of strength avaliable, Bilko put on a confident smile. Speaking quickly he took her hand and held the golden mark between the two of them.

"I am too little one. But remember-" he said holding her hand gently and showing her the golden mark "Heaven has a plan for you." She nodded as her eyes began to fill up with tears.

"What about you and mommy?" she whispered. His honest answer to her question was not something he could share. Bilko was certain that there was indeed a cosmic plan for the two of them, and he was growing more and more confident that the plan was to give his all to keep this little girl alive.

"Heaven has a plan for us too." He said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "Now remember, Follow uncle Ishmi, and be strong for your friends. Illo…" he paused "I love y-"

The building was rocked by a massive explosion which knocked them to the ground. Indra's song was replaced with a horrific shriek as shrapnel tore through her beautiful form. Falling to the ground, she let out a moan of agony as she pulled herself to her knees and hunched over the children laying on the ground. Blood poured from a wound in her chest as she looked to Bilko. "Run" she whispered before another explosion rocked the building. Indra was sent to the great beyond with pride in her heart as her body protected the children before her.

Bilko was given two choices in that simple moment. He could give into the despair and horror of seeing his beloved die, or he could be the leader he was destined to be. Stealing himself, Bilko rose to his feet and drew his sword. Giving commands to his guards, he sent them to clear a path. "Ishmi!" he yelled, "Go. Now!"

-111111-

Without looking he held out his left hand palm open expecting… nothing? That was a mistake. Tniffguff revved the guns engine in disgust and turned to bear on his assistant. As the gun changed directions, the belt of ammo acted as a leash and dragged Furp in the same direction. Furp was all too happy to oblige, and he roared for the sheer glee of fulfilling his life's purpose: carrying things.

The assistant was truly in an unfair place in his life. Guff had given the lad a chance at redemption for his earlier mistake of stupidity and Pulpmish's melted flesh had healed…somewhat. An unholy wreck of a beast, Pulpmish looked much like a wax figurine of an Ork which had been set to close to a fire, he was scarred and warped to a hideous extent.

Guff was not a cruel boss, as far as Guff was concerned. He had given the lad a very important job… Holding his cigar, and replacing it when the old one was smoked to a nub. This was not a hard task, and Pulpmish's failure was inexcusable. That is was literally impossible for an Ork to stand amidst such a target rich environment and not join in in the slaughter was irrelevant, and when Tniffguff took in the scene of Pulpmish hacking a pinkskin to death, instead of holding Tniffguff' cigar at the ready… It was an unforgivable breach of discipline. Revving the gun once more, Tinffguff was disgusted at the lack of cigar in his mouth. Enraged, he gave a bellowing cry and brought the gun to bear on Pulpmish.

-111111-

The pain of the blow was unreal, and Ishmi was left in a foggy state as his body began to shut down. That he was dying was obvious, and he felt fear. He was not afraid to die, he had expected such a thing would be his fate long before. No, Ishmi feared having to face Bilko and Indra in the next life, for his very presence there would mean that he was not in this world for Illo. Warm blood spattered onto his face as he coughed.

It was oddly relaxing dying like this. He had no more worries, and nothing more that he could do. The blow had simply turned off his ability to function. He was somewhat ashamed however. Ishmi had always hoped that he would go down fighting. Yet here he was, and there the greenskin was. What a sight. It was far uglier than any greenskin he had ever seen, as if it had been on the wrong end of afire of some sort. Melted and disfigured, the beast was horrible to behold. And where did it get that cigar from? That was somehow extra disheartening… he was killed by a smoking greenskin. It really wasn't fair either. It wasn't fair how he had died. He had simply walked out the door, ready to lead the children out, and in a blur a massive hunk of metal was sunk into his chest. That shifty ork Kinfilk.

His whole body shook with the impact of another strike. The general haze of pain was pierced by a massive blow to the chest. There was no wind knocked from his lungs, his open chest cavity simply had no wind. Instead his blurred vison was rattled by the blow. Soon after came another as the beast began hacking into his body. It was odd really. Soon the blade struck down into his chest, but he felt nothing other than the earth beneath his back push to the sides under the massive force. Odd.

Soon he lost interest in the rapid blows as they hacked his body to shreds. In the seconds he had left, there was a small mercy given as the image of Bilko stepped over his body. Ishmi could swear that he heard his brother say something. Maybe an apology? Either way, he didn't mind.

He blinked his eyes in surprise as something green landed next to his face. It was on Ork's head. A hideous thing to see. Something was familiar about the sight, but he could not quite remember it. The head just as surprised as he was it appeared. That made him smile. It was kinda funny really. Besides… The smell of burning Tezki leaves was refreshing, and the Ork's head had the weirdest object between its teeth. It looked to be a cigar of some sorts. That caused him to laugh. Odd, no sound came out. And he was really tired. Maybe he should sleep now, he remembered a promise that he would see his brother soon after this nap. Where was his brother? Was Illo okay?

-111111-

Tnifguff was not pleased. Watching the head of Pulpmish hit the ground, he groaned in anger. It was an inconvenience, and the stupid git had the gall to let his cigar touch the ground? There was no way he was going to let the idiot die. Heads could be reattached, and there would be no fun to be had if the fool died now. If he was dead, how could Tniffguff ridicule him in front of the other lads? While failing to hold the cigar safely was his primary sin as far and Guff cared, the added insult was that the blasted fool had been beheaded by a pinkskin. That was simply too much, and Guff would have to make an example of the foolish little vermin. Scowling he took in the scene before him. All around his lads were engaged in an orgy of slaughter and violence. Pinkskins shrieked in terror as they were torn to bits by Orkish gun fire, or hacked to pieces by the crude blades. There was very little resistance left as the 'uman warriors had been mostly slain upon the walls. Yet here before him was something different. One of the wretched creatures stood glaring into his eyes defiantly. The nerve was insulting. Setting the massive gun down for a moment, Tniffguff reached into his apron and felt around for a new cigar. Taking the time to light it, the voice of the insolent human broke the air.

"You killed my family!" it shrieked in its annoying tongue. Tniffguff did not understand the human language, and could only hazard a guess as to what it was trying to say. Still, its voice was grating and just plain wrong compared to the powerful and guttural tongue practiced by the Orks. Taking a massive drag from his cigar, Tniffguff responded by raising his middle finger. The reaction from the human was perfect as its face warped in anger. That was a language that Guff understood, and it made him laugh.

"Yuz want to 'ave a go?" He bellowed out in challenge to the arrogant little squig. "Fine, 'ave sum 'o dis here!" Tniffguff had set his gun down, but he hadn't turned the engine off. That meant the gun was ready to fire. The human was surprised at the speed in which Tniffguff The Woodburna brought the weapon the bear. It was even more surprised when Tniffguff turned and gave the handle a squeeze right into the building from which the human had come. Through the holes blown in its side, Guff had quickly noticed movement from within. If there was movement inside, and had not come out to join the other pinkskin, Guff reckoned whatever it was, the human was trying to protect it. From the horrified scream of anguish the pathetic git gave out… Guff figured his fire had hit its intended target.

That made Tniffguff laugh and laugh. Through the peppered holes in the wall he saw no movement, save a quickly forming pool of blood. There was a lot of blood as well. It amazed him how much blood the pinkskins had in them, almost as if Gork and Mork had created them specifically to be killed by Orks. They made a wonderful mess when given a proper greenskin kruppin. Closing his eyes he grinned and took in a long deep drag from the cigar, letting the sweet smoke fill his lungs. By chance he happened to open his eye just in time to see the human upon him. That was surprising.

Tniffguff flinched back in surprise and raised his new gun in defence as the human delivered a slashing blow from its sword. The air crackled and popped as the electric blue blade arched strait through the massive shoota, lopping it in two. Both chunks of his beloved toy hit the ground hard as he barked in surprise. Anger exploded through his body as he realized just what had happened. His gun, _his gun,_ had just been destroyed by the pathetic little beast. That loss of such a precious object was heartbreaking. The worst part was that the Human didn't even understand the grave insult it had delivered… You didn't just destroy an Ork's gun and not expect retribution. Behead an assistant? Whatever, Kill a few dozen of his boys? An annoyance. But this pinkskin trash had delivered the gravest of insults, and had taken something cherished from Guff. He almost wanted to cry.

Stepping back from the human he locked eyes with the vermin. It was crying. What did it have to cry about? Bellowing in a blind fury, Tniffguff roared a question to the human as he pulled his axe-wrench from his back.

"What are yuz crying 'bout?" He took a step forward and delivered a massive overhead strike as he shouted "Yoz din lose yer gun!" The axe crashed down hard into the spot where the pinkskin had stood seconds before. To Tniffguffs great surprise the stop was found empty. To his greater surprise the blade came whistling through the air into his face, and pierced through the back of his throat before ripping off to the side. The human's strike missed the massive Ork's spinal column by the smallest margin of error, and failed to sever the all-important cluster of nerves needed to keep the walking bullgrox in action. Such a wound could be recovered from, but in the heat of combat it would have been assuredly fatal as Tniffguff would have immediately been left helpless before Bilko's wrath.

Instead the momentum of Bilko's spiraling footwork pulled the energy blade away from the spinal column, and instead neatly severed the right side of his jaw. Howling in pain, Tniffguff ripped his axe from the ground in an attempt to deflect the next incoming blow. The human was unbelievably fast, and instead he took a stab directly through his chest. Piercing a lung, Tniffguff shrugged off a wound which would have been fatal to any other being. Before he could process the full effect of the blow, or even react, a third lightning blow was delivered severing Tniffguffs arm at the elbow. That got his attention.

Somewhere deep in his soul, an emotion he had not felt since he first crawled from the ground flickered back into life. Tniffguff looked down at his severed arm, felt the pain in his chest, felt his near severed jaw, and simply felt afraid. Were he any other being, such circumstances would have initiated flight for the beast. Unfortunately for Bilko, He was a Boss Mek. A Big Mek. When Tniffguff felt fear he became angry, truly angry. And an angry Ork is a sight to behold.

Bilko redoubled his efforts and delivered a fourth blow directly down onto Tniffguff's shoulder. Given his skill with the deadly energy sword, he fully expected the blade to cleave a chunk of the monster clean off. Instead Tniffguff displayed an act of low cunning and instead of ducking or moving from the blow, he instead stepped into it, taking the blow fully on the shoulder. The full momentum of the strike was lost as the blade struck near the hilt instead of it full fulcrum length. This slowed the deadly edge just enough to stop the blade in Guff's body. Feeling the sensation of being almost fully cleaved in two, the entire left side of his body went numb as it was separated from the never cluster. Expecting the blade to pass right through, Bilko was caught off guard just long enough to be left vulnerable. Instead of using his speed to his advantage, he instead stopped and stared dumbly up at the massive horror before him, mouth agape. For a split second the two warriors locked eyes. "Fool" Tniffguff grunted at the man, which in turn blew rancid spit and ash into his eyes. Flinching back from the sudden assault, Bilko was unprepared for Guff's signature move.

Tniffguff kicked the master hunter in his knee. It was delivered with such force that his leg snapped backwards and he fell to the ground screaming in pain.

Grunting at the exertion of trying to breath with a severed shoulder, and filleted lung, Tniffguff the Woodburna, BigMek and Boss Mek, Stepped away from the downed man, and grabbed an ammo belt from Furp. He carefully wrapped the belt around his partially bisected torso, pulled both ends tight, and used his immense strength to crimp the ends of the metal belt together. There was still plenty of killing to be had, and he would be a bloody git before he let such a simple injury stop him. He stretched his good arm, and tested the brace, making sure the ammo belt would indeed hold him together. Almost immediately the two severed halves started to coagulate. In another few hours feeling would begin to return to his partial bisected left half, and within a week he would be good as new with an impressive new scar to scare the other lesser Orks into submission.

Feeling victorious, The Bull Ork smiled and took a deep drag on his cigar. He coughed once, and smoke erupted from the already healing seem in his chest. Now that was something to laugh about. A low rumble of sardonic chuckling erupted from his lips, and was reflected in the smoke rippling from his chest wound. Stretching his limbs out again, he rode out the pain and cracked his neck. A loud pop snapped the air. He looked down at the stump of an arm and scowled. Freshly victorious such an injury was simply frustrating. Now where was his arm?

Glancing around he looked past the wounded form of the still squirming human and saw his missing arm. Still wrapped tightly around the handle of his wrench-axe, it stood erect in the air, quivering as the muscle memory and sheer Ork resilience kept it alive. Tniffguff trod purposefully over the down man, making sure the step on his other leg as the reached for the arm. Feeling the satisfying crunch as the man's bones gave way to powder under his immense form, Guff paid him the ultimate insult, and acted as if he was nothing more than a wounded animal to be ignored. He pried his own fingers off the weapon and casually held up the severed limb. Flipping it in the air, he caught the hand with his uninjured hand, and turned to face the downed 'umie.

"Oi, yah rancid git," he said, looking down at the injured hero. He held his own severed arm for the doomed man to see. "Das why Orks are dah bes'". He hocked a loogie onto the injured father, and then beat the man to death with the severed green arm.

After several more whacks than was necessary to see the job through, He looked down at his own stump and found a new thing to be annoyed at. Aside from the fiddly red blood that ruined his otherwise proud greenskin. The stump was no longer a clean slice, and had been beaten ragged by the subsequent thrashing against the pathetic human. He murmured in frustration and tossed the limb into his sack. Now where was the 'umie sword? It was fiddly and lacked the characteristics of a good Orkish blade, but even he had to admit that the blasted thing could cut. It would make a fine bayonet on the next version of his gun.

A sudden thought crossed his mind. He was curious to see just what he had shot that had enraged the man. Marching towards the blasted out wreckage of the building, He wiped the remnants of the man in the dirt. The only thing that looked good with 'uman blood on it was a blade after all. Crossing around the corner, he was greater with a scene of carnage. He let out a soft grunt of surprise. It hadn't been just one person, no his burst of fire had seemingly caught a whole lot of the little humans. It was amazing the mess they made, and yet he felt somehow unsatisfied with it. Seeing the 'umie cry was funny, and he'd shoot the little ones again given the chance, but something about the experience wasn't fun. Had he been a deeper thinker, perhaps the beast would have reflected on the lack of challenge, and lack of accomplishment left him feeling indifferent. There was nothing much worth bragging about this lot.

Tniffguff turned to leave the carnage in search of more victims when he heard the faintest sound. A shrill squeak popped into the air, and turned his massive head back to the scene of desolation. It was odd that he heard the sound, as the barking of Ork stubguns, and roars of laughter combined with pinkskin screams of terror and left a pleasant cacophony is the background. Yet hear the sound he had, and his predatory gaze quickly noticed a little body scamper behind the wreckage of a larger 'umie. A wicked smile broke his cruel visage and the promptly set out to stomp the wretched creature. Kicking the larger body aside, a tiny 'umie with brilliant orange hair screamed and pushed herself up to the corner. Tniffguff laughed and raised his foot, preparing to smash it like a grot when a something peculiar caught his eye. The pathetic little beast raised its hands to protect itself, and Tniffguff noticed it had a golden something on its hand. He bent down and wrenched the little git into the air, holding its hand up to his eye. Her screams of terror felt on deaf eyes as the monsters lust for all things valuable was sparked into life. The golden mark seemed to be part of the girl, and it had glowing 'umie markings in the middle.

"Well lookie 'ere" He grunted staring into her terrified face. "I bet yuz a luck little git aint 'cha?" He sniffed her and scowled. She smelled sweet, like a mountain flower. That was aggravating to his Orkish sensibilities, so Tniffguff inhaled a cloud of smoke and promptly coughed it all over her face. That helped only so much. "No sense in krumpin yuz jes yet," he declared. "You kin be mah lucky git". With no further thought he tossed the young girl into his sack. Walking out of the blasted out building, he stopped by the still living head of Pulpmish, picked it up, and tossed it into the pack with the girl. He could have sworn her heard her scream, but really didn't care. Looking around for Furp, he saw the beast feeding on the body of the vanquished human and laughed. Tniffguff whistled for the stupid animal, and was pleased when it bounded up to him obediently. Lighting a second cigar, Tniffguff the Woodburna placed the smoking bundle carefully between the lips of his hauler-squigg before standing up to admire his handiwork. Furp looked confused at the treat and promptly gobbled it down.

Laughing at his pets antics, Tniffguff grabbed his axe-wrench, tossed his sack over his good shoulder, and moved on looking for more things to kill.

He was a happy Ork.


	14. Moonlight

At least they were talking. Nula was distinctly uncomfortable with awkward situations that she had not planned for. A mischief maker at heart, it was not unheard of for her to needle a person or two. However, in those situations she was in control. The rapid deflation of her ego at the hands of Mila's reaction was an entirely different matter. The surprise of it all had left her more than a little shaken. It was as if she taken a step and found instead an empty space. In all honesty she wasn't sure how she should react to her old friends outburst. She thought she understood her concerns at the least.

Placing her hand onto Nula's shoulder, Mila's voice broke the still morning air as she gently spoke into Nula's ear.

"Be conscious of your body. You need to be in control of your legs just as much as your arms. Your shoulders and your hips? Those are focal points. A shift in one sends reactions through your core." Nula lay in a field of dazzling green. At the edge of a clearing, between two exceptionally old Tezki trees, The little recruit prepared to take a life. Mila's tone dropped to a near whisper. "Control your breathing. Even in, and even out." Her words had the desired effect on Nula, and guided the inexperienced scout through her anxiety and fear. "Remember, do not pull it, squeeze it. Let it surprise you-" Nula interrupted her words by taking a large breath of air and tensing her muscles. A loud crack broke the morning stillness as the rifle in her arms roared to life. Flinching at the sudden blast of air, force, and noise, her eyes closed and she failed to ascertain the outcome.

A skilled marksman, Mila's reaction was entirely different. Her sense's immediate reaction was to take in the concussive force of the blast, watching as the plant matter just beyond the rifle was blown to the side from the projectile's ripping speeds. Mila suspected that the shot was a miss as soon as she felt Nula's muscles tighten, and was quick to see evidence of such as the frightened animal darted away. She sighed before placing her forehead into the cool wet grass.

"Did I hit?" Nula asked in genuine hope. It was good that the girl did not find the long gun terribly imposing, and her enthusiasm for the practice was sign enough that she would eventually master the skill. Yet still, Potential was merely a sign of what could be, and not what would be. If she wanted to have any luck in the realm of firearms, the girl would have to learn better self-control. And Mila could think of no better teacher than repletion.

"You would know if you were practicing your follow though." Mila responded, a raised eyebrow delivering all the critique she needed.

"The gun surprised me" Nula replied. "And you said to let the gun surprise you!"

" And you fired before I could finish." Knowing she was in the right, Mila was ready to counter any of Nula's more 'exuberant' responses. Eyeing Nula's face, She was ready to catch her gaze just as Nula turned.

"But-" Nula started. Mila was quick to end the discussion before it began.

"But nothing. You missed the target. It got away. Follow-through is just as important as every other step. If you lose the shot but twitch even the slightest before the round has left the barrel, it will toss your shot." Mila's response was true, and they both know it. Taking several seconds to digest her accusation, Nula starred down the length of the gun, and into the empty space that was distinctly _unfilled _by their next dinner. The results spoke for themselves and Nula offered a begrudges surrender.

"Your form is just fine Nula." Mila continued. She placed her hand onto the rifles barrel and felt the heat rising in the cool morning air. "What you need to work on now is your trigger pull and your follow through. You have the respect for the gun, you just need to learn to calm down." Mila pushed herself to a kneeling position next to the young girl. "You also need to get over the flinching reaction. The gun isn't going to hurt you."

" I can't help it. " Nula complained, turning to face her mentor. "It's like I know that the gun is going to jump, and I get so scared about it kicking, that I just end up-" Mila interrupted her complaint with a gentle but firm slap across the eyes. Not enough to sting, but more than enough to trigger Nula's instinctive defense. The young girl snapped back in surprise, eyes and nose squinched into a face. "Emporer's Tears!" she gasped in shock at the sudden but painless assault. Mila burst out laughing.

"See that reaction? That is about the same reaction your have to the gun shot, but the gun isn't even touching your face. Your reaction to the gunshot is instinctive, the powerful concussive force make you defended your vital spots, such as your eyes. But when you shoot Nula, You get so worked up about the potential unpleasant sensation that never comes, that you end up reacting as if you had been slapped in the face, when in actuality your shoulder and your core is taking the brunt of the impact." Nula was still sitting up, gun laying between her arms. She slowly turned to look Mila in the eyes, keeping the squinched face. Upon making eye contact she stuck her tongue out. The sight caused Mila to snicker.

"Knock it off you goof" Mila scolded, trying to hide her smile with a scowl, and failing miserably. "This is exactly why you let the gun surprise you when it goes off. You commit to an even trigger pull all the way through, and you let the gun go off when its ready. If you pull too hard, you'll end up tossing the shot. Remember an inch down here-" Nula finished the statement for her

"Is a foot down there." Nula nodded and picked up the rifle again. "Okay big sis, I bet I can do this."

"Alright girl, since you missed the last shot at dinner, I want you to bag me a delicious branch of that tree" Mila pointed far across the meadow, picking a difficult but possible shot for the young girl. And the two of them went to work practicing, and after a while Nula started to show marked improvement.

The act of shooting was relaxing for Mila, and she had often spent many a night in the Eternal Forest hunting game for her people. She was a practiced huntress, and Amnic had been more than willing to take her along with his pack. For their people, the art of scouting and hunting were often interchangeable, and a master of one discipline usually ended up being more than proficient at the other. All said and done, Amnic and Mila were neck in neck in almost every regard when it came to the arts of survival, combat, and tracking, and each just barley surpassed the other in respect to their given trades. Mila was Amnic's superior when it came to the art of the long rifle by a hair, as the man lacked her instinctive ability to judge windage and bullet drop. When handed a lase rifle they were for all intents and purposes equal, as the beams of light were completely uneffected by such factors. Still there was no competition when in game to sling or bows, Mila simply out preformed Amnic.

However there was no other person in the village who could quite compare to Amnic's mastery of the wilderness. He could simply disappear in broad daylight, and traverse nearly any terrain as if he were unfettered by pesky things like dense underbrush, dry leaves or… gravity. Mila had once witnessed her friend traverse a muddy embankment without leaving a single footstep. Had she not seen him hopping from dry stone to dry stone, and even once use his staff as a pole vault, she would never have figured out how he had pulled off such a feat. The distances between the dry rocks were just too far apart, and until she had witnessed it with her own eyes, shed assumed that it was simply impossible for a person to leap so far. Yet witness it she had, and in doing so she had first felt the pang of attraction for the man. Confident, graceful, and built like a stone, Mila was not above the occasional daydream.

The day was just beginning and the men had traveled out at the break of dawn to harvest cooking supplies and material. Having been informed of Mila's plans involving Nula and the gun, Amnic instructed the men to stay clear of the meadow, lest a stray bullet do the Ork's work for them. The night before as the group had made their nests in the Tezki trees, Mila had waited until only she and Amnic were awake before silently making her way to his rest. At the top of an elder tree, she found her friend sitting in crook in the tree, taking first watch. Of course he was in the highest (and thus most exposed) branch, taking the first watch. He was a natural leader, and caring for his people, Amnic always placed himself in the greatest danger, or assumed the largest risk.

"Are you still worried for Nula?" Came his voice, a comfortable whisper that floated through the calm moonlight air. Mila was beyond being surprised at his talents. She had no way of knowing how he had identified her without looking, but she was not in the least it surprised that it had happened.

"I don't know why you even need to ask" she responded, pulling herself to the branch adjacent to him. Her dark skin absorbed the frigid moonlight and grew rich in complexion. Leaning her head back against the soft bark, she closed her eyes. "I know for a fact that you're just as concerned for her as I am" she stated keeping her eyes closed.

Amnic nodded his head in agreement, and exhaled slowly. That he was silent and offered little in the way of response caught Mila's attention, and she opened her eyes. He held a blade between his hands, and was watching his own reaction in the mirrored polish. With each twist of the wrist, the blade shimmed and sparkled in the moonlight. She knew it to be his ancestral blade, handed down the Deoonja line from first born to first born, whether it be daughter or son. He had inherited it from his mother the night she had died and left him orphaned.

Watching him twirl the blade, she leaned forward and whispered to him. "What do you see?" He paused for a moment before he replied.

"I see a future." Mila's face showed no reaction even though she was inwardly confused. "I see a face that wishes to see that future fulfilled." Another pause. "And I see a face of a man who may very well not live to see that future. I see a face that carries many lives of his shoulder, and I pray that that face doesn't fail them." He looked up to see her, and in the moonlight she thought she had seen a tear. "If the Krill fell… I mean, what chance do we have?"

"We don't know that Aminc." Mila responded looking him in the eyes. "Just because we haven't heard from them, doesn't mean that they have fallen."

He looked at her and smiled sadly. "I hope I'm wrong Mila. I really do." His moment of weakness was odd to see, though not unheard of. She was one of a handful in which he felt comfortable confiding, and this was not the first time she had seen him carry the heavy mantle of responsibility. He'd yet to drop his load, but even Amnic Deoonja was but a man. "Mila, we don't just have Nula's life riding on our shoulders." He whispered. "I talked with Bolo. The fact that he is willing to stand with us speaks volumes about his character. Hearing him describe the battle with the Orks, our old books simpley don't do them justice. Even if we forget about their strength, It sounds like our weapons will do very little to harm the beasts. Can you imagine a beast which can take a direct blow and keep on going? And their strength… He said that Ajin did not die well. He said that One of the Ap'cho filth literally ripped him in half." Amnic stabbed the knife into the Tezki branch in frustration. "If those monsters make it to our village, they'll kill the whole lot. All of our loved ones will go the way of Ajin. So yeah Mila, I'm worried for Nula." She could see how badly he wanted a drink. "We all carry a death sentence over our heads. Nula included. And given the chance, I'd rather see her die on her feet, than on her knees."

It was a lot to take in. Mila was confident that in this moment, Amnic merely needed a shoulder to lean on, a sympathetic ear to hear his concerns. Fulfilling the role of friend was a hard task from time to time, and Mila found herself facing just such a challenge. Thinking his words over, a silence settled between the two of them as Amnic stared out into the woods. He was surprised when Mila reached over and pulled the knife out of the tree. Watching her move, his face bore a slight look of confusion.

"You know what I see when I look into this blade?" She leaned her head across his shoulder so that both of them could see his face in the reflection. "I see a face that has grown old before his time. I see wisdom. I see compassion and deep concern for his loved ones, and above all that, I see a man I trust implicitly." She pressed the flat side of his blade against his shin, and turned his face to meet her own. "I'd rather see Nula live on her feet." He smiled. Mila continued. "This isn't lost Amnic Deoonja. We may lose our homes, and some of us may lose their lives, but even in the worst case scenario, we have people like you, or Master Gint to lead us into the woods. We have Masters like Elder Coin'pa to defend the helpless. And we have the wisdom of people like Elder Oontila, or Djoor to help guide us." She reached up and wiped a tear from his eye. "All we can do Amnic, is our very best. If we can report back to the Elders what our own eyes witness at The Crawl, then we have done our jobs as scouts."

Amnic smiled at that, and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Thank you," he whispered.


	15. Hope

Her screams only lasted for a while before she simply lost her voice. As her emotions flared and burned through her soul, the archaic rune in her golden palm blazed a brilliant hue of red and pulsed with every shuddering sob that wracked her frail body. The air in the bag was horrendous, and the stink of it caused the little girl to vomit. The excrement pooled in the bottom of the bag, and exponentially multiplied the horror factor.

Illo had managed to push away from the horrible chunk of meat that had been tossed in with her. It was near pitch black in the rotten leather sack, save a couple of worn through holes that cast beams of light into her new personal hell. She kept her eyes closed, and pressed her face into the putrid walls, trying desperately to ignore or hide from the monstrous face which scowled at her. That its eyes were still moving was beyond horrifying, and through a stroke of luck had managed to worm her way past one of the larger tools in the bag placing a wall of sort between herself and her grotesque partner.

If the Soul wrenching horror of her situation was akin to a knife cutting through her sanity and paralyzing her with fear, then the sorrow she felt at the deaths of her family was a hammer, beating away at her shell. There was very little hope for the child sanity, as stacking horrors were certain to break down the fragile shell of any child, and Illo's was already thin with her miraculous and desperately unwanted blessing branded into her palm.

The torment did not stop there, for even the blessing of emotional exhaustion did not permit sleep, as every step of the Orkish monster wracked her prison, and jostled the massive iron and steel tools. Illo was beaten raw by the force of gravity, and was forced into the bottom of the bag to avoid the metallic assault. The overwhelming beating on her every fiber of being reduced the girl to a constant state of sobbing, until even her eyes ran out of tears. The experience would have been unbearable to all be the strongest of adults, and to this girl is was simply too much. Her mind broke.

Illo was stuck in the bag for several hours as she heard the Monster go about his business of being an Ork. Every time he swung his axe the entire bag shifted, and the din of clambering tools drowned was only drowned out by the bellowing hollers of her captor, and the screams of his victims. Every blow from his axe jostled the metal, and it was only time before one of the tools badly injured her leg. She of course screamed once more, for all the good it did. As the sacking of her home went on, Illo was finally given a reprieve from the horrific conditions when a swing sent a wrench into her head, and knocked her unconscious. The beating from the tools did not stop with her injury, and Illo faced the very real threat of death.

Being an Ork leads to a very carefree and oblivious outlook on life, and Tniffguff the Woodburna continued in the long and proud tradition by being completely unaware of two separate and important events. The first of which was the danger he placed his new prize in. Tniffguff had no reason or want to see her die, as the young girl was valuable to him. This was no act of mercy, as she was only worthwhile as an oddity, yet it would give Illo the best protection she could ask for in the company of the Orks, as no other Ork would dare to touch or threaten the Boss's loot. Of course if the child died, Tniffguf would have immediately placed the blame on Pulpmish, and while his head lacked any agency whatsoever, It would surely be his fault, as it was quickly becoming apparent to Tniffguff, _everything _was Pulpmish's fault.

Secondly the beast, completely engrossed in the orgy of violence and wanton sadism, completely failed to notice the slight sensation pressing against his back, as if a solid metal ball had simply appeared within his sack. Strong as steal, and pleasantly warm, the orb was completely missed by the Big Mek as he pummeled and went about his frenzy of violence. After all it was a good day for the beast, Destroying this 'uman city would provide him and his lads with all the metal they needed for the time being.

However unnoticed the orb went for Tniffguff, it was impossible for Illo to even register it in her unconscious state, yet it was willed into being for her protection. As she lay in the bag pressed and contorted by the weight above her, The Golden mark on her hand rippled, and exploded a field of energy outwards, immediately encompassing the young girl in a field of protection. Curled into the fetal position, the air within the Orb was warm and comforting, and went about its miraculous way if starting to heal her. The hairline fracture in her leg started to mend as golden light filled the void between bones and shimmered away, being replaced with new and stronger materials. The internal weakening of her hearts major value would have been fatal if her heart rate once again reached high levels, and the golden mist filled in the damaged material before shimmering and replacing it.

Her lungs, filled with putrid chemicals and dangerous bacteria were filled with the golden mist, which continually fed her oxygen, and wiped away the poisons and infections. As the healing went under way, The Ork's tools bounced harmlessly off the field, each strike sending a shimmering ripple throughout the ball of light. A single beautiful note filled the interior of the orb, ethereal and high, it was an impossible mixture of human voice and stringed instrument. The sound stopped dead at the exterior of the ball, as did the mist. Even as Illo lay unconscious but protected, the tune bore into her mind and soul, and locked away the darkness that shattered her. The death of her family was not forgotten or erased, but instead partitioned away, magically sealing and postponing the eventual trauma for another time. Finally within the very depth of her heart, a single seed was planted. Deeper than and fear, and safe from any horror, The very essence of human strength was planted, and while she would not be able to explain it upon awakening, The seven year old child so brutally violated by life would be given the strength she needed to have a fighting chance.

Illo was given Hope.


	16. Iflit the Weak

Amnic's face was frozen in granite. Peering over the desolation, His jaw muscles tensed, and his brow curled into a furious scowl. Little to his knowledge, Mila was growing more and more concerned as she glanced from his face to the scene below them. This was something new and entirely different. In all her years knowing him, she had never seen this face. This was not his peaceful exterior, or the serene countenance that was oft synonymous with him. Living in the woods, with the woods, led the man to a humble acceptance of life and a generally pleasant nature. This was entirely different, and what scared Mila most was that she had no way of knowing how he would react once they reached the remnants of the Krill.

The Krill was anything but a dead and forgotten ghost town. Alive with activity the once great fortress was ablaze with the fires of industry and destruction. Imposing towers were razed to the ground, and the mighty walls mere skeletons of their formed selves. Teams of greenskins were hard at work stripping ever scrap of metal they could find, and makeshift workshops had already sprung up from the ashes. The Krill sat at the cutting edge of the crawl, and from its southern boarder the desolation and clearing of the wood expanded out as far as the eye could see. Its fires, as intimidating as they were, were dwarfed in comparison to by the titanic column of smoke miles away. Amnic still had no understanding of what that fire was, but he was starting to believe that while imposing, the real threat lay here in the destruction of the Krill. Yet he couldn't be sure.

His studies had suggested that the Ork society was simple. According to the historical records available in their town, It was highly probable that there would be one Ork in charge. An audacious plan was beginning to form in his mind, one that went beyond the mission they had been charged with. If they could locate the theorized beast and kill it, it would at the very least slow the Ork's advance, and Emperor willing, maybe it could leave the rest of beasts for easy pickings?

Amnic was furious, and he was attempting to hide that fact. He had suspected that the Orks had taken the Krill, but seeing the horrors wrought from afar had triggered something deep within him. It was one thing to be cognitively aware of an atrocity, or to suspect that one had occurred, but it was a far greater thing to see it firsthand. He knew this town. Being a scout he often was called out as a guide, or a messenger to the might fortress. Their village was but one of many that traded with this hub, and the Krill served as a gathering point for the outlying villages and towns which spotted The Eternal Forrest. From even this distance he saw more than enough evidence to know that something devastating had been done. The residential area alone was simply gone, razed to the ground to make room for what appeared to be a landing strip? That alone was terrifying to imagine. Their town would be exceptionally visible from the air. He would have to send one of the younger scouts back to warn of that development alone. It was very possible that it was time to abandon the village, or at the least pull back into the interior of the caves.

However they were already short of the manpower needed if they were to kill the Ork Warlord. Infiltrating this encampment alone would be a nightmare given how busy and active it was, and they had no way of knowing if the beast would even be there. The choices he faced were daunting as the leader of scouts. He was expected to think on his feet, to do what was best for the village, yet was deviation from the role of observers truly the best task? Could they do both? Was it even possible for one of them to kill the theorized warlord? What of the smoke? Amnic closed his eyes and rested his face in the coolness of the Tezki bark. The squad was deployed around the general area, some keeping watch for the errant orkish scout, or whatever else threat was worthy of their precaution. The rifle scope was straining for the eye after a long enough time spent staring through the glass. There was no readily apparent right choice for him to make.

The silence was broken by the static bust of the vox com he wore in his ear. There were very few of the devices available to the greater community of the Eternal Forrest, and the set he had acquired through a game of chance was won right here at the Krill from a rather boorish and loudmouthed merchant. They were not exceptionally powerful and only had a range of about one Imperial kilometer.

"What do you think Sir?" Bolo's voice was muted by the ancient technology. Amnic's response was longer in waiting than the squad expected, and there was a noticeable concern that began to form, especially with Mila. Finally he broke the stillness.

"I needed two volunteers to go down there with me".

Nula's response was immediate. "I will" she called over the radio. Amnic looked over to Mila and the message was immediately received.

"Negative Nula" Mila responded. "I need you up here with me on the guns". There was a long silence in which everyone could guess what Nula was thinking. However the girl showed restraint.

"Okay" came her terse response.

The rest of the decision was easy enough. Bolo was stern in his demeanor, and had more than a healthy respect for the Orks, yet the deaths of his friends had left him determined for revenge. Competent in the arts of stealth the younger man spoke after Nula offering his service with a simple "Here". The brothers remained understandably silent as the realization had already dawned that one of them would be the third option. Amnic chose Lexao the younger.

Night would soon fall and the "volunteers" were ordered to prepare for the probing raid. Lexoa's brother Nigsha was ordered to guard the sniper team through perimeter patrolling and soon the squad was alive with silent but purposeful activity. Blades were honed to a Razors edge and the rifles were cleaned. Several of them possessed las weapons who's snap and crack would be easily missed amoungst the Ork labor. Bolo however was armed with a simple projectile tossing weapon, a close mix between a shotgun or a bolt action rifle. Large of caliber, this hunting tool was designed to drop large sized beasts, but was phenomenally loud. Bolo was one of only several people Amnic would trust with such a tool, as he was known for his self-control. A single shot from such a gun would be more than certain to draw the attention of anything within earshot.

As the squad met below in a clearing, Amnic had ascended the tree after a quick briefing. They were officially going in to look for survivors and intel. Orkish blueprints? Grab them. Valued human documents? Snatch them. They would report in any and everything found, and in general try to foil the Orks plans while gathering whatever evidence they could find. To the squad this was acceptable, and they went about their work, The men used the opportunity to teach Nula as they worked.

To Mila however Amnic's face had spoken far more than the supposed plans allowed. She had never seen that level of cold fury in all of her time with the man, and she suspected more was planned than simple recon. As soon as Amnic had climbed back into the thickness of the Tezki tree, Mila had slipped out of sight and followed right after him.

"What is it?" came his voice down to her. His question was accentuated by the sound of a whet stone on his blade. She was still surprised once more how easily he had detected her.

"What are you planning?" was her immediate and somewhat confrontational question.

"Exactly what I told them. We are going to hassle the Orks to the best of our ability." He responded

"And get revenge." Her statement was direct. There was silence for a moment before a slight sigh escaped form Amnic's mouth.

"Do you disagree with our plan?" he asked, not turning to look at her. Mila was growing frustrated. She tested the branch we was stepping on and finding it appropriately springy, she used it to launch herself up to his level. Grasping onto a nearby branch she easily pulled herself up to him and gracefully planted her feet right at his. Still he didn't look up.

"I've never seen you like this before" she said to the top of his seated form. Slowly he looked up to her, the darkness present on his face, and he whispered:

"I've never seen so many people die."

-11111-

Iflit the weak was by no means anything of note. A wretched little beast, he stood at top 3 feet tall. The very definition of a gretchin, Iflit was rude, cowardly, weak, and full of low cunning. His current job was very simple as far as he was concerned: Listen to whatever the Boss Nob said, and try his hardest not to be kicked. He saw what happened to Gretchin that got kicked, the Orks in his world were getting better every day at aiming their punts, and the increase in Squigpits offered all the targets they needed. Having absolutely no interest in falling into one of the horrid pits, Iflit made it a habit of doing as he was told, staying out of kicking range if possible, and blaming other gretchin for any mistake he made. So far his utter cowardice had done wonders at keeping the little cur alive.

His current task was simple. The Boss Nob wanted his lucky 'umie coin, and it was Iflit's unfortunate task of making sure the massive lout got it. Thankfully the Nob was very distractible, and that fact would buy him some desperately needed time to find the silver shiny. But where in the world could the stupid thing be?

Iflit remembered the last gretchin that had been given such a task. The only evidence of Pootz the forgetful was a black smear on the base of the Boss Nobs left boot. Pootz had simply… forgotten which coin the Nob wanted, and when he returned with something shiny and gold, His kicking had become more of a stomping. The Nob kept the golden coin of course, for while it was no toof, and had no real value, it was shiny in the extreme and had been easily folded into a lip clasp. The giant beast had the makings of one of the flash gits, and it would be only matter of time until he tried to challenge Tniffguff.

Now there was a name to make the gretchin shiver in fear. No one from his caste wanted to lay eyes on the dreaded BigMek, much less simply have to talk to him. Other greenskins had a way of ending up dead around the Big Boss, the lucky ones merely maimed. Those ones were lucky at first, but once the pianboy laid his claws on the unfortunate lad… Maybe a good stompin was preferable.

Iflit came to a stop right outside the door to one such hut. The remnants of the 'umie citadel was merely a makeshift base of operations for Tniffguff's wave of carnage. One of the more adventurous and frankly insane pain boys had volunteered to set up shop at the "frontlines" and this blasted out 'umie house had made for a perfect spot to set up his clinic. The shrieks of pain as the unfortunately wounded boys received anesthesia-free bionic replacements scared the wits out of Iflit, and he had absolutely no interest in going into the shop. Yet what if the coin was in there? The Boss Nob had recently received a new "upgrade" and maybe he had dropped it while under the saw? His toofless scowl was evidence enough that he had been in the hut. After all, every good painboy knew that the first solution to any illness was removal of the teef.

Starting up at the massive door, the 3 foot tall little wretch was faced with a most serious of dilemmas. It went against every ounce of low cunning that Iflit possessed (the closest thing he had that was akin to intelligence) to take a step into the hut. The literal only thing which was able to override his instinctual dread was the very real threat of being "Pootz-ed" so to speak. Faced with the threat of a beating he took the first of many terrible steps into the darkness.

Thankfully there was a respite in the inky darkness as the setting sunlight still cast its glow into the room in the form of sunbeams. They fell into the room through a hapahazard line of hole blasted through the wooden exterior. The shredded remains a small humans caught the edges of the beams and let off a putrid stink. Iflit didn't mind that much; the very notion of a pleasant smell was beyond his understanding or place in Ork society. Such a concept did not even possess a word to describe it, as even the enjoyable smell of gunpowder or belching engine fumes were merely "orky", and thus acceptable. If anything the small bodies had been mulched by Ork fire too easily, and anything that fiddly and weak was decidedly "un-orky. He was thankful for the light cast by the bullet holes, and used it to navigate the wreckage in the room. Stepping out of the soft glow and into the darkness his night vision had not yet caught up to the low light environment, and he tripped right over the body of a larger 'umie. Of course the painboy hadn't made an effort to clean up the place, the bodies had posed no nuisance to him, and thus did not merit him forcing a gretchin to dispose of them.

Picking himself up from the tumble Iflit froze solid in an animalistic fear and waited to see if his clatter would spell his certain doom. For several seconds he simply didn't breath and prepared for his certain death. When his assured destruction didn't come, he let out a sigh of relief which was of course so loud that if there was some errant beastie or ghoulish fiend hunting him, it surely would have found Iflit. This was lost on the Gretchin and he continued forward in timid exploration. It further didn't occur to Iflit that if the Boss Nob had dropped the coin in this room he'd never find it.

Next Iflit picked up on a sound that was actually quite comforting. He heard the rumbling thunder of an Orks snore and realized that the Painboy was surly asleep. This put some confidence in his steps and he shuffled over to the main operating room.

The sight within was a charnel house of horrific proprtions, or would be to any other sane race in the galaxy. Where most beings would look on in utter revulsion at the wicked assortment of limbs, chunks of flesh, and splatters of blood that littered the once beautiful living area, a normal greenskin, Iflit include, merely saw the results of good old fashioned Orkish medicine. Was it pleasant? Of course not. Would Iflit allow a painboy anywhere near him? Not while he was alive and able to move away as quickly as possible. But the sight was nothing atrocious or awful to see. From the outside Orkish surgery looked to be a madman with a chainsaw needlessly removing body parts with wild abandon and replacing them with all sorts of creative "improvements" which were haphazardly welded, bolted, and sown into place. To the average greenskin it was just the cost of good medicine. Besides, they all knew that any Orkish malady could be remedied with the removal of all of the patient's teef. That Orkish Teeth were also the currency of the society was surely just a coincidence.

It really was a right mess in the room though. A sickly yellow pale illuminated the room and was only cut through by the blue and green screens attached to the Orkish technology. An operating table which was absolutely drenched in putrid dried blood was the center piece of the room, and a massive florescent bulb dangled above by a rope to give light. The table had "safety clamps" which were intended to keep the patient safe, but actually served merely to keep them still while the painboy gleefully hacked away at their still living flesh. All around the room crude "bionics" were strewn with wild abandon. There was no discernable order to the madness, and the resulting chaos was almost certainly to blame for the occasional attachment of the wrong device. The resident painboy was after all not terribly careful in his application of medicinal technique.

To complete surprise there was a flash of silver which caught his eye. Sure enough under the shining light in one of the corners he saw a small silver token. A wave of relief washed over the pathetic beast as he scrambled to pick of the missing token. As soon as his fingers touched the coin he knew it was the lucky token and that his hide was safe. He laughed with glee as he clenched the desired coin between his fingers. As waves of joy washed over his tiny form a sudden impulse to toss the coin to hold and he flipped it in the air in glee. As his eyes tracked the coin they passed over and fell upon a completely surprising and horrible sight.

An Ork's head was attached to a metal base which in turn was hanging from the ceiling. This would not have been terribly strange had it not been for the simple fact that the head was still alive. Upon seeing the Iflit, the face snarled and tried to bellow out to the little runt. However no sound came from the mouth and instead it merely proceeded to snap viciously at the little grunt. The stump of its neck was attached to a metallic ring. The ring itself was rusted and covered with the constant oozing of Orkish vital fluids from the imperfect connection of neck to machine. A series of tubes ran from the hanging metal collar to a noisy pump which was buried with Mechanical odds and ends. Above the makeshift pump a ghastly array of severed limbs and body parts hung from hooks and chains. Beneath the chunks of flesh set a funnel. While the exact mechanism was lost on Iflit, It appeared to be collecting Ork fluids and was in turn pumping them into the Head. That was simply too much for Iflit, and he turned to flee, lucky coin in hand.

As he ran through the makeshift charnel house the little beast stepped into a ribcage of one sort or another and ended up tripping. Bones and rotted flesh flew into the air as he stumbled and fell. To his horror he watched the lucky coin fly through the air and into a dark room. Without meaning to Iflit let out a low hiss as he stared into the inky darkness. His shin hurt and he was in no mood to go searching for the coin once more. Still the stomping he would receive was an amazing motivator.

Iflit pulled himself up from the jumble of gore and bones and scampered to the door frame. Unlike the operating room, this one was pitch black save the soft pink light coming through from the duel setting suns. The window was slid open, not shattered. That this was notable was completely lost on the Iflit. Instead he peeked around the corner into the room waiting from his night vision to make sense of the dark. In the corner he saw the coin just barley. Iflit was so focused on the object that he missed the humanoid form crouched just beyond it. Scampering into the room with the same urgency as a child running to get uned its covers after turning out the light, Amnic Dooenja went complete unnoticed as Iflit crouched down before him feeling for his prize.

Iflits death was painful but blessedly short as the master scout silently descended on his frail form. The last thing his sense perceived was a sudden force of an alien hand over his malicious scowl and the excruciating rip of the steel across his neck. He tried to scream but the severed airway instead blew vital fluids in every direction. Quickly Iflit the weak started to fade and was completely unconscious by the time his corpse was tossed into the blood collector in the adjacent room.


End file.
